Sum of Us
by Blue eyes Red heart
Summary: It is positively inconceivable that Lestrade would give Sherlock's crime scene away! Sherlock's curiosity is about to set him on a path there is no return from.
1. Chapter 1

**W.I.M.P**

It was completely absurd that after all these years and everything they had been through together Lestrade would hand Sherlock's crime scene over to two imbecile that didn't know how to work a camera phone.

"Leave off, Harry, I think I've got a handle on it." The first man, a red head with a gangly frame, claims swatting at his partner as he turns the phone around smiling in such a ridiculous way Sherlock could only assume there was a moderately pretty girl on the other end.

Harry is a dangerous looking chap with dark hair in need of a comb and vivid green eyes that narrow in at the red head- his thought clearly written on his face.

There most certainly was a pretty girl on the other end of the phone.

The ginger is examining the phone nodding in a mocking action of understanding but it was quite obvious that he was an idiot when he pushed a button and a young female's voice carries out for all to hear.

"Great! I asked for you turn the camera view around and you put me on speaker! Where is Harry? I asked him to hand me off to someone who was simi-intelligent and he hands me to the biggest tech moron in the world!" The woman shrieks.

Harry quickly pulls the phone out of the ginger's hand and begins to apologize when the girl cuts him off.

"Really, I ask for someone who can use a mobile, and you hand me off to Ronald? Sometimes I over estimate you're ability to actually think, don't I?" The woman's tone is patronizing.

"Don't be like that Hermione, I don't know anyone here." Harry claims, aware of all the stares from the police. "Beside the phone was your idea..."

"Yes and I clearly remember going over the functionality of it with you, only now you have proven that you weren't paying attention. I am in a very important meeting..." The woman is cut off by Harry.

"A meeting that is more important than being here? I needed back up." Harry raises his voice.

"So you brought a shop keeper as back up?" Hermione asked her tone exasperated.

"Well my first choice wasn't available!" Harry's features indicate he is irritated.

"Harry, my job is just as important as yours..." Hermione starts only once more to be interrupted by Harry.

"Well…" Harry trails off clearly not believing her claim.

"It is!" She cries clearly this was a sore spot for them.

"Please your job is more of a hobby..." Harry claimed and the expression on his face along with the silence of the phone clearly translated his own error in a way that not even John has to explain to Sherlock.

"I thought we could handle this but it is outside our depth, I need your expertise. Could you please look over the crime scene?" Harry practically begs back tracing, and Sherlock can't help but smirk in a frustrated pain filled way.

_Once more- how could Scotland Yard give Sherlock's crime scene to amateurs?_

After a thick bout of silence Hermione once more speaks, "Then turn the camera view around, it is that little button with a camera and a half circle with arrows." She directs clearly having calmed down.

Harry holds the phone out and examines it before pushing a button. No sound comes out and Harry looks concerned. "Ow…I lost her." He looks over his shoulder to the ginger shop keep named Ronald that apparently was even more unqualified to be there than Lestrade.

"She is going to be blooming mad." Ronald predicts. Sherlock growing incredibly irritated by the second nudging John in attempt to hurry things along. John stumbles a few steps but clearly understands Sherlock's intent, walking over to introduce himself.

"Hello...I'm…." John starts holding out his hand but Harry cuts across before he can say anything else.

"Oh, hello…Do you know how to work a camera phone?" Harry asks shoving the device in John's hand before he can confirm that he is very familiar with that particular model of phone.

John nods taking the device and looking at the screen. "You put her on mute." John points out.

"Is that an option, she does tend to nag." Ronald states earning a scowl from Harry.

John pushes a button and the girl's voice once more carries out of the speaker.

"Morons, I swear. It is just like school…can't do anything on their own…Oh good a doctor. No one told me there was a doctor on hand." Hermione's voice drops in relief.

"How did you know I was a doctor?" John asked. He couldn't help it, he was wearing street clothes and there was no form of ID visible to the live feed.

Beside no one knew how do to read people the way the Holmes brothers can.

"Never mind all that, Doctor. You were an army doctor, were you not?" The woman asks and John can only nod. The woman smiles. "I am in a very important meeting, Doctor… John. Will you please turn the phone around so I can get a proper look at the crime scene and the victim?" The woman was no more than a girl, John noted once more nodding currently on auto pilot. He was stunned that another younger, prettier, better mannered version of Sherlock could possibly exist in the world.

He walks through the crime scene like he would for Sherlock and the girl is silent as he live feeds video. John shows her the floor and entry way, the window seals and the broken vase, the scratch mark on the man and on the sofa.

"There is an open window in the bath room, show me." Hermione cuts across the video feed and John just nods walking out the room and into the bathroom sure enough the little window in the shower is open, John angles the phone to show her.

"Absolutely absurd! Any man with half a brain can clearly see that this is not a case for the specialilty W.I.M.P that Harry heads up. A complete waste of time! Where is the man in charge? Pass me off immediately." The girl proclaims and John can only nod handing the phone over to the waiting hand of Inspector Detective Greg Lestrade.

All the while Sherlock can only ponder how he could possibly share the same sentiment with the loud, abrasive voice coming from the phone.

"It was delightful to meet you, Doctor John, congratulations on being an expecting father." Hermione yells as the phone exchange hands.

Lestrade looks furious taking the phone "What do you mean a waste of time? I was told to call your Mr. Potter, if anything out of the ordinary popped up?"

"Out of the ordinary, not something that is so obvious that any respectable police man could figure it out." Hermione scolded, causing Sherlock to laugh. John still looks confused.

"How did she know my name was John, or that I was expecting a baby, Sherlock?" The doctor asks his friend who just waves him off as the detective continues to eavesdrop on the conversation going on across the yard.

"Yeh, well your men couldn't now could they?" Lestrade states grouchily at the phone.

"Course not! They're there to do their job, not yours." Hermione declares like Lestrade is an idiot.

This makes Sherlock's smile grow in a frightening way. He had to meet this woman the detective suddenly decides.

"Well now, do you have a detective there that has basic reasoning skills or am I going to have to spell out what happened?" Hermione ask, Lestrade pulls a face that clearly says he does have someone on hand though a bit reluctant to ask for the help.

"Go on…then…" Harry urges. "Where is your man?"

"He's not exactly a detective on the force, his a consulting detective." Lestrade tells them like this is a dark and shameful secret he would rather not discuss with people who have the kind of security clearance that these three have.

"So is Harry… I don't see your point you are wasting his time and mine." Hermione uses that tone that makes Ronald and Harry cringe in response. "The circus was in town last night….two tickets still in the victim's pockets…your victim is Walter Hitch…" Hermione spells out the clues.

Lestrade still looks completely lost but Sherlock has worked it out. "For heaven's sake he is an animal right activist!" Sherlock shouts out, not able to contain himself any longer.

"I don't see how…" Lestrade starts, but it is Harry that cuts across the Detective Inspector, looking to Sherlock for answers.

"Go on." Harry urges and so Sherlock does: Walter Hitch animal right activist goes to the circus last night and liberates a baboon keeping it in his bathroom. Overnight Walter forgets the baboon is in his bathroom and goes to use the toilet only to be brutally assaulted. Walter is able to escape but with critical wounds, successfully locking the baboon back in the bathroom. Walter dies of his wounds unable to reach a phone before he bleeds out. The baboon escapes through the small window in the shower. Sherlock finished with a smirk and everyone is clearly impressed if their expression are any indication.

Harry reaches over pulling his mobile out of Lestrade's hand. "You're brilliant, have I told you that today?" Harry says to Hermione. Sherlock is a bit put off, he is the one that just solved the case, never mind the woman in the phone worked it out seconds before he had.

Sherlock is the one that always gets the praise.

Hermione's tone has soften considerably at the complement. "No you haven't, but you can make it up to me by going to that charity dinner at the end of the month."

"I told you I have plans." Harry argues.

"Cancel them. I'm sure, Ginny will understand. Harry I really must be going…I am…" Hermione starts only for Harry to interrupt.

"I know in a very important meeting. Tell Kingsley we are on for tomorrow, and I'll see you tonight." Harry says with a smile, Ronald rolls his eyes.

"At which time you will agree on my terms for repayment." The woman's voice grows softer, the edge is completely gone Sherlock might even comment there is kindness in her tone. "Harry, make sure they don't take advantage of you, you needn't be bothered with such triviality."

"I know, thank you…see you tonight." Harry responds hanging up the phone.

"She's your girlfriend, is she?" Lestrade asks with a wolfish grin. "Quite the looker."

"No!" Ronald bellows too defensively.

But Harry rolls his eye looking irritated by the inquiry. The woman was clearly a pressure point for both men. "What in the world would make you think that? Two people can't have a chat without pervy minds going to the gutter? Listen… W.I.M.P is designed to help with crimes that are unexplainable…not something that can be highly rationalized. I am interested only in case that have no logic. This man," Harry points to Sherlock. "Pass it through him, before you even think of passing it on to me. Got it?" Harry demands with a sharp tone pointing back to Lestrade, who nods clearly shocked by the suddenly defensive attitude the young man has taken. And Sherlock can once more read the dark edged of this young man who had seen a lot of death and has eyes that are fearless.

"Come on, Ron. I have to stop by Flourishes before I return to the office." Harry waves his friend on, not bothering to look back at the police as he makes his way under the crime tape.

"What for?" Ron asks close at Harry heels.

"A gift, for Hermione of course." Harry says hailing a taxi.

"Can't you just get her flowers, she has plenty of books now doesn't she?" Ronald suggests as a taxi stops in front of them.

"Can she ever have too many books?" Harry laughs like his statement is an inside joke that his ginger friend just doesn't find amusing. Then Harry stops and turns back like realizing something of great importance walking over to hold out his hand to Sherlock.

"I am Harry Potter." He introduces himself waiting for Sherlock to do the same. The detective does so with piercing eyes in attempt to appear intimidating.

"Sherlock Holmes"

The young man smiles and then blazingly asks something no mere mortal would ever dare. "Would you have records of unsolved cases? I would be very interested in looking them over."

Sherlock tries to appear aloof about the request, but John would later state Sherlock did a very poor job of schooling the expession of indecency that he simply could not supress.

"Yes I have cases that are still being looked into, no you can't have a look at them." Sherlock rudely declared, glaring suspiciously at Harry Potter.

Harry raise an eye brow in response and shrugs like he had been expecting such an answered. "Have it your way, I was hoping you would be professional about all this, a smart man like you. I would think you would welcome a fresh pair of eyes."

"Your poor eye sight could hardly benefit anyone. This case was child's play and you had to consort with a woman for answers." Sherlock states the word woman like an insult.

Harry is no longer smiling his vivid green eyes swirling with dark threats. "Very well if you wish to act like a child, throwing chauvinistic insults around, and unwilling to share your toys then you will be treated as a child." Harry states pulling his mobile out once more looking at Sherlock in a blatant dare as the phone rings.

"I know, I know. I truly apologize, Will you ask him if he knows a Mr. Holmes...No a Sherlock…he doesn't want to cooperate...ok...see you tonight." Harry hangs up the phone looking mighty pleased with himself.

"Did you just tattle?" Sherlock asks taking a threating step towards Harry.

"Well yes. "Harry says turning his back to the detective and walking towards the taxi Ron was currently holding the door open to. Harry climbs in the taxi and driving away with Ron, the shop keeper, without another word.

Sherlock is left wondering who he called, and what the call met for the consulting detective.

"Are you really not going cooperate, if he could help solve open crimes, then ..." John says clearly still trying to work everything out.

"Course I'm not going to cooperate, John. Mycroft is pulling a cruel prank, demoting me to an amateur in a profession I created. It's not to be tolerated. That woman, had already been debriefed on us only way she could have known about you. This is all Mycroft. Positively absurd!" Sherlock bellowed causing eyes to roll in response to his outburst, including Lestrade.

"Who gave them clearance to my crime scene?" Sherlock demanded getting in Lestrade's face.

"Orders on high."

"Mycroft put you up to this didn't he?" Sherlock shouts waving his arms like a crazy person.

Lestrade doesn't look even a little intimidated. "Higher than your brother." The Detective Inspector claims. Sherlock leaves the crime scene mumbling hailing a cab, John at his side.

The only way to fix this was to go to the source of the problem. And no matter what Lestrade claimed Sherlock was sure he would find answers at the Diogenes Club.

Perhaps tarnish Mycroft's sacred ground would give the man a healthy respect when he did it to others.

Mycroft was completely scandalized by Sherlock's behavior when the youngest Holmes and his partner came barging into the quiet sancum. Mycroft kept assuring Sherlock that he had no clue what W.I.M.P was or who the woman on the phone could possibly be. Mycroft had never heard of Mr. Potter, never heard of a Ronald, never heard of W.I.M.P the whole thing was positively absurd.

After a long heated argument that mostly consisted of Sherlock yelling. Mycroft did the only logical thing he could think of making a single phone call to the Prime Minister himself to inquire about W.I.M.P.

After the phone call Mycroft was left slack jawed and completely flabbergasted by the events that transpired. It had quickly been established by the Prime Minister that W.I.M.P was a secret government liaison and that only the highest security clearance had been made aware of their existence. As such the knowledge of W.I.M.P was on a need to know basis only and apparently Mycroft Holmes had not needed to know until it became apparent that W.I.M.P had need of his baby brother's unsolved cases.

It was a matter of national security.

Mycroft was now in a position of offence that he had not been trusted with this information sooner and being ordered to make sure that Sherlock handed over his case files immediately. It was imperative that W.I.M.P be allowed to help solve these open cases, which could perhaps save lives in the process. Because really wasn't national security more important than a consulting detective's injured pride? The order turned into a threat of treason, when Sherlock refused once more to share his cases. The British prime minister declared W.I.M.P a national guard against the unknown and that either Sherlock was an ally or an adversary either way the Prime Minister demanded Sherlock's cooperation.

Still Sherlock refused, returning home to safe guard his flat against theft only to find a letter beautifully penned on partchment setting on his desk waiting for his return. His apartment appeared undisturbed, his safe remains locked- if not for the letter Sherlock would never had known he had been robbed. The thief was impressively practiced, his files looked completely untouched. The letter thanked Sherlock for his cooperation at allowing W.I.M.P to make copies of his case files. Signed elleiquatly with the initials HG. Sherlock pulled out his case files thumbing through them to find nothing missing but there were more notes scribbled in the margins of several of the cases. HG had practically solving these cases for him. Cases that had been left in limbo for months if not years and here in script was solutions that was brilliantly backed up with what little evidence that had been collected. The handwriting was notably female, she was right handed and Sherlock was convinced it was the woman on the other end of the phone.

Hermione G.

He couldn't deduce how she broken into his flat without leaving any trace of her visit. But her note seemed to boast of her accomplishment. Perhaps vindication to the insult Sherlock had spat at Mr. Potter hours before.

Sherlock needed to meet this woman who could walk through walls and copy files without leaving any trace. She must be a spy it was the only rational conclusion.

Sherlock was determined to make an introduction as soon as he discovered where this Hermione could be found. That was when he remembered the phone call between her and Harry and how she would be attending a dinner at the end of the month with this Harry Potter. No doubt it would be the annual charity auction that the Prime minister's wife organized. Fortunately, Sherlock Holmes had an open invitation, though he never attended. This year he had every intention of going if only for the opportunity to meet the woman in the phone. John would of course to be his date, if for no other reason than to distract Mr. Potter while Sherlock made his introduction. Because if Mycroft was telling the truth and this was not some elaborate joke of British government Sherlock had to assume that Hermione might in fact impose not just a serious threat to the detective's career but to the man himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Decoy Bride**

It was one of the cases that required foot work and once more Hermione was too busy to accompany Harry out in the field and Ron was too busy with inventory to help, so Harry found himself once more on the phone with Hermione this time at St. Bartholomew's morgue. The coroner was a sweet woman who was eager to help brandishing records of the lab reports she had done for Sherlock Holmes nearly a year ago on a woman by the name of Ruth Price. The case was implemented by Ruth's husband, Charles, who claimed that shortly after marriage and a trip to America Ruth's temperament completely changed- she acted as if she were a completely different person and the husband suspicious thought that the woman that returned was an imposter.

Hermione was suspicious that this Ruth Price was using polyjuice potion to conceal her true identity, but Harry was insistent that this case was in fact solved by Sherlock Holmes. Whom was unable to find anything that suggested foul play. Mr. Holmes did uncover that Ruth had been hiding that she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and so the detective concluded that it was the stress of Ruth's secret that caused her change in temperament.

This seemed enough of a conclusion for Charles Price, and at the time for Sherlock Holmes, but Hermione found dictation of a conversation that Sherlock had with Ruth recorded by John Watson incredibly suspicion and that this tidy little conclusion was not entirely convincing.

In fact it was because of this conversation that Hermione did a background check on Ruth Price to find out she had been adopted, and that her parents had never confined this information to her. And while it could be plausible that as an adult Ruth found this information out on her own, it was unlikely since the case files had only been opened once since the adoption had been finalized and that person was not Ruth Price.

This lead to Harry and Hermione to the Price residents and a very pregnant Ruth who answered the door and with all courtesy of a hostess offered Harry refreshments. Facts where not adding up and Harry could only frown as Hermione excused herself to the bathroom, in rues of snooping around the house. Harry congratulated the expecting mother, and briefly touched on Ruth's upbringing to which there were inconsistency and when Hermione returned they quickly made their excuses to leave. Hermione had to return to the office but not before she determined that Harry would return to the place where the original DNA testing was done to have the new samples that Hermione procured tested.

DNA testing after all was no match for polyjucie potion.

Harry stood in the lab as Molly Hooper explained the results to Harry. The DNA was in fact identical to the samples Sherlock had tested eleven months ago.

"No…that cannot be right!" Hermione argued, "Harry send me pictures immediately. I will look them over myself. Clearly the coroner does not know how to read simple genetic coding, there must be a mistake."

Molly looked shocked by the claim, her mouth hung open and there was a small whimper of noise as if she were about to defend herself, only no words formed before she once more shuts her mouth and handed the reports over.

"Alright, call me back." Harry stated hanging up and spreading the papers out on the counter before sending images one by one to Hermione.

"She doesn't mean to be insulting. I'm sure your assessment is accurate, Ms. Hooper, but Hermione has a way of seeing things that no one else can. She is highly rational. Brilliant really. She often makes me feel like a bumbling idiot. But she is a lovely person…" Harry apologizes as he works and Molly blushes with down casting her eyes.

"Is she your girlfriend?" Molly asks.

Harry lets out an exasperated sigh. "No, Hermione, is not my girlfriend."

This causes Molly to raise an eyebrow. "Are you gay?"

"Nope, I have a girlfriend it just isn't my best friend." Harry states irritated.

Molly shrugs while an uncomfortable silence stretches between them.

Then the door bangs open and in struts Sherlock Holmes.

"Molly, coffee." The Detective says in way of introduction and Harry can't help but think on how rude the man was. Then Harry is reminded of why he is here and how while Sherlock thought himself so clever, Hermione had beat the arrogant man at his own game.

"Mr. Potter." Sherlock Holmes greeted spitting out Harry's name in a way that could only rival the deceased Professor Snape.

"Mr. Holmes." Harry greeted smirking indulgently at the man-child.

"Is it not enough that you have taken delight in bumbling around in my profession that you must also take residence in my lab?" Sherlock asks through clenched teeth, clearly not in the mood to be laughed at.

"Seven. Just in case you are wondering. We have solved seven of your unsolved cases." Harry boast watching as the detective's blue eyes narrow and the side of his lip twitch.

"We…so can I presume you brought adequate back up this time, or has the shop keep found the cafeteria?" Sherlock rudely asks, not really caring simply wanting to insult Mr. Potter.

"Ron is highly qualified, not my first choice but he has been a great assets to me many times. I am alone today but that doesn't mean I don't have back up." Is Harry's self-justifying reply.

"No of course not, you have the woman in the phone. A phantom unwilling to leave the comforts of her office to do grunt work. Let me guess she might break a nail?" Sherlock rudely states knowing the subject of Hermione was a pressure point. The detective was hoping that Mr. Potter would become defensive revealing more on the woman's identity.

This causes Harry to smile, because the assessment of Hermione was so incredibly ridiculous, but other than the smile Harry remains tight lipped staring the detective down.

Sherlock moves over to the lab set up and pulls out the parchment starting his experiment so he can identify the paper's origins.

Harry has turned his back to Sherlock both men now ignoring each other's presence. Ten minutes pass in silence when Mr. Potter's phone rings. Sherlock can't help the way his heart pounds in anticipation as Harry answers, all the while hoping it was that woman on the other end. The detective strains his ears to listen to the conversation, wishing Mr. Potter would put her on speaker. Harry is nodding like the person on the other end could see his action.

"You sure?" Harry asks looking shocked by the information. "Yes alright. I will….you will never believe who is here…. Ok perhaps you could…I think he is doing an experiment on the parchment you left in his flat. I don't think that is a good idea…Hermione…" Harry's voice trails off as he looks over to Sherlock who has frozen mid action and is staring in anticipation at the direction the one sided conversation had lead. "She wants to speak with you." Harry tells Sherlock holding out his phone to the detective. Sherlock nods, getting up to move around the counter taking the phone his hand, his fingers griping the sleek plastic of the phone case as he brings it up to his ear. His heart hammering irrationally fast as his own anticipation builds.

"Hello, this is Sherlock Holmes may I assume I am speaking with Hermione G?" the detective ask sounding far calmer then he feels.

"Yes, Sherlock. I am Hermione Granger and it is a pleasure to speak with you." Her voice is calm and collective with a hint of playfulness. "When I spoke with the Prime Minister about what kind of man you were he informed me that you were a necessary evil to keep the British Empire from falling into chaos, and that my organization might in fact be a sensible replacement for the services you offer."

Sherlock's fingers curl around the phone and his voice drops to a threatening growl. "Is this a declaration?"

Hermione laughs. "No this is me reassuring you that is not my intent. W.I.M.P. is not a threat, we only want to help. We will fill in the gaps that you cannot see. We do not have the time or man power to look into every crime that is committed in all of England."

"I have been told that I am arrogant, and yet your boast could only be perceived as conceit. What makes you think you are smarter than me? Because that is clearly what you are implying that you are somehow more observant, right? Isn't that why you are parading your success in my face. Scribbling solutions in the margins of my notes. Boasting that you are in fact far more clever than a lowly consulting detective?"

"Even a rational man can be offended when his intelligence is being questioned. But I assure you that is not what I am implying, you simply to not have the tools to completely succeed. Allow W.I.M.P. to help when it comes to your own limitations. There is no need for confutation or ill will towards one another. We are on the same side, working towards the same goal." The woman logically presents in terms of a truce.

"HA! You broke into my flat, and stole from me. Your action reek of ill intent." Sherlock shouts just as Molly walks back in with his coffee, but Sherlock is too preoccupied to notice that Harry plucks it out of Molly's hand and claims it for himself. "Listen well, Miss Granger, I cannot be beguiled by your feminine charms nor will I be dissuade from my earlier declaration, of working with wimp. You will leave well enough alone. I have no need of your _help_." Sherlock rudely declares and he can hear the woman sigh.

"It is not wimp, you arduous man, It is W.I.M.P. and I thank you to remember the proper way to refers to my organization. I had been under the impression that I was speaking with a man of science. Someone who used his intelligence to perceive the logic conclusion of what an alliance between us could achieve but I was obviously miss lead by those that know you. It seems incredibly foolish to make those that should be your friends your enemies, considering all the help I have been in solving cases that not even you could see the logical conclusion to. I apologies for my own miss calculation, arrogantly assuming that my sex would not be a hindrance in a partnership with such an intelligent man. I now perceive my own error, perhaps Harry is the only man alive whom can rationalize past his cock. " Hermione finishes notably calm, her tone pure ice.

"And I had assumed that a woman of your caliber would be above insults that hit below the belt." Sherlock snidely responses.

"How poetic in our disappointment for each other." Hermione states and Sherlock can feel his pulse quicken. He had to meet this woman face to face, the prospect of waiting another three weeks somehow seemed intolerable. "Place me on speaker, I would like to hear your thoughts on the lab work I had Ms. Hooper do on new DNA samples I collected from Ruth Price. Do you recall the case?" Hermione asked.

"Husband suspicious of imposter. I solved that one." Sherlock states sounding bored, placing her on speaker.

"No you came to a happy conclusion. I should inform you that Ruth is happily expecting her first child." Hermione's voice is loud from the speaker, gone is that compelling ice, her tone taunting as she shares this new development.

"Impossible…" Sherlock declares thumbing through the lab results on the counter. "These results are identical." Sherlock states unimpressed.

"Exactly. Identical in all accounts except a little mutation in the samples you collected that do not appear in the results I collected. Ruth had under gone chemotherapy altering her genetic encoding. The second sample though genetically identical has never been mutated, this sample has never been exposed to the same treatment as the first." Hermione spells out.

"Twins…One twin took on the identity of another." Sherlock concluded aloud. Harry looks startled by this solution.

"Ruth had been adopted, though she had not known it." Harry interjects.

"Well she found out on her death bed when Ruby Holt showed up to her twin's hospital room while Ruth was undergoing treatments in America." Hermione concluded. "Ruby traveled to England to break the news to Charles, only instead Ruby took on Ruth's identity marry Charles in her sister's place."

"Because even if Ruth had gone into recession, with the kind of cancer she had it would have still left her infertile. Unable to carry a child." Sherlock concedes.

"See what a wonderful team we make, Mr. Holmes. Too bad your pride eclipse your good sense." Hermione states. Harry reaches over and plucks the phone from Sherlock's hand.

"Hermione are you going to tell that man, that is wife is in fact an imposter and that the woman he loves is dead? The truth could ruin their lives; they are happy in their ignorance." Harry argues.

"Happy ignorance…how absurd!" Sherlock balks.

"Harry, the truth is not to be feared it is one of the strongest bonds in human history. However, this lie no matter how un-malice, deserves to be confronted with a certain amount delicacy. Therefore I thought it best that I be the one to support Ruby when she tells her husband the extent of her lies." Hermione declares.

"So what do you want me to do with this fool?" Harry asks with a smirk implying Sherlock Holmes, who glares at Harry clearly insulted.

Hermione laughs, "Nothing…in fact it all went rather smoothly all things considered. Charles and Ruby have decided to name their daughter in remembrance to the woman they both loved and lost. It is amazing the way love can transcend even the most deceitful lies."

Sherlock reaches over rudely takes the phone from Mr. Potter, "Meet me for coffee." Sherlock requests at which Hermione laughs.

"I thought we established that you did not want to work with me." Hermione smartly replies.

"I don't, but I think negotiations would be far more beneficial in person." Sherlock states a bit too eager.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes there is nothing to negotiate between us. I have no interest in a grown man that acts like a child, clearly your violate outburst and stingy attitude would be a hindrance to my unit. I am not running a nursery." Hermione declares.

"You are playing with fire." Sherlock growls into the phone he can't quiet the irrational anger that bubbles to the surface.

"Interesting choice of words, how very telling about you Mr. Holmes. I will be happy to leave notes any time I have need of your flat. And I hope the same consideration can be said if you happen to find your way to my door, using only that piece of parchment. If that day ever comes I will have coffee with you. Good bye, Sherlock Holmes." Hermione says hanging up the phone.

Sherlock is looking at the phone like the object it's self is a product of grand insult. Harry plucks the phone out of the detective's hand and places it in his pocket. "Until next time." Mr. Potter says and Sherlock can only nod as the man walks away.

Sherlock is mopping on his couch when John arrives with groceries. "Do you think I am a man-child?" Sherlock asks as way of greeting. John stops half way to the kitchen and looks over wide-eyed to Sherlock.

"Is that a trick question?" the doctor asks wondering why Sherlock would ask such a thing when normally the detective took pride in being childish often flaunting in front of Mycroft just to irritate the elder Mr. Holmes.

"Ah" Sherlock makes the irritated noise waving his hand at John dismissingly before rolling over and facing the wall. John- use to his friend's antics simply shakes his head and enters the kitchen to unload the groceries.

John is putting things in the pantry when Sherlock drags himself into the kitchen looking as if he has been sulking all afternoon.

The detective pours himself a drink before turning to John with clear eyes and a prominent frown.

"Describe her to me." Sherlock orders and John can only wondering who Sherlock was referring to, but Sherlock caught on to this. "The woman in the phone. You got a good look at her, what does she look like?"

John is shocked by this inquiry, "She is more of a girl then woman." John starts, "She is very pretty, with…"  
"Wait don't tell me anymore! We are going to the Prime Minister's Charity auction. I have procured three tickets so you can bring Mary." Sherlock interrupts and John looks confused.

"Why are we going? You never go." John asks, wanting his friend's motives.

"And isn't it a shame that we never go to support the orphans. What kind of civil servants are we? We must go and do our duty to our nation." Sherlock declares with gusto.

"Orphans? I thought the charity auction was to help a hospital?" John asks and Sherlock shrugs. "Miss Granger is going to be there isn't she?" John deduces.

Sherlock nods. "At which time you will point her out to me."

John smiles. "Are we going as quests or are we going as waiters?"

"How scandalous, John! We are going as guests, since the woman has never seen me there is no reason for a disguise. Beside I want to make an impression. Let her know who she is playing with." Sherlock states taking a sip from his mug.

"Sherlock, she doesn't seem like the kind of girl that plays games." John states thinking how genuine Hermione appeared in her concern for others.

"No a woman like her wins games, but she has met her match…or will very soon!" Sherlock affirms walking into the other room.

John can only roll his eyes picking up the invitations and placing them in his pocket. "The game is on." John whispered to the wall paper.


	3. Chapter 3

**Personal Space**

Sherlock was taller than what Hermione had expected. His eyes gave him away as he scanned the party absorbing everything yet skipping over her bored by his surroundings unseeing what was practically right in front of him. Hermione knew he would make an appearance tonight, after all she had left the invitation in such a tempting way knowing he would not be able to refuse a face to face 'chance' encounter with the woman in the phone. His weakness was easy to see and she knew exactly what she needed to do to get him on her side. Hermione had just not expected him to be quite so exquisite.

His attention was demanded by a couple at his side, Hermione recognized Dr. John Watson. The woman holding on to Jon Watson's arm could only be the doctor's wife, Mary. The wife was more than her sweet demeanor suggested the woman had killed before it was written on her face as blatantly as text in a book. John Watson, however, was a doctor no matter how many lives the soldier had taken at the core the man was a healer, and a protector.

"What may I ask could be so fascinating about muggles? You are staring at the dark haired one like he is a tasty treat." Her dance partner whispers in her ear, the sting in his tone causing her to smile.

"He's the most beautiful man I have ever seen." She answers honestly uncaring how the ferret would perceive her statement.

"Then perhaps you should shift your gaze to me. I am incredibly gorgeous." The snake hisses and Hermione turns her attention to the blonde she is dancing with.

"Malfoy, you are not my type. I am only dancing with you because you coerced me into a one dance deal, that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

"Oh, Granger, I am everyone's type. Blonde, pouty lips, stormy gray eyes, incredible body, overly generous. Think of how much I donated to the revision of Hogwarts and to this muggle children's hospital thing." Draco Malfoy bragged, his hold a bit too possessive.

"I can't avoid thinking on it since you keep bringing it up." Is her response. Hermione's attention drifting back on Sherlock as he makes his way to where his brother stands chats up the Prime Minister. It is perfect timing as the music ends, Hermione pulling out of Malfoy's embrace before the final note finishes. "You should go find your date, now, before your betrothed runs off with a muggle who has deeper pockets than you, think of the scandal."

Draco's indecent growl does not registering with Hermione as she dismisses him, makes her way over to the group of powerful men across the room. Forcing herself to not acknowledge how nervous she is for this introduction.

Hermione can only watch as John nudges Sherlock's shoulder interrupting the detective mid statement his mouth still open when he turns in the direction that the doctor is pointing and Sherlock Holmes's blue eyes connect with her own brown ones. The two of them staring each other down as Hermione makes her way across the room. She refuses to look away as his intense stare divulges into inappropriate. Hermione forcing herself not to blush. She keeps herself focused not allowing the silly girl to be flattered, or the grown woman to be insulted. She simply keeps her face neutral reaching out and taking a flute of champagne from a waiter taking a drink to keep herself from fidgeting.

The Prime Minister smiles when he sees her, holding out a hand which Hermione takes purposefully looking away from Sherlock to give her full attention to the Prime Minister. "Ah there she is…Hermione, dear, I don't think you have met Mycroft Holmes or his brother, Sherlock." The Prime Minister introduces the brothers. Mycroft smiles indulgingly but it does not reach his eyes. Sherlock is still staring her down in an almost catatonic states.

"Nice you meet you." Hermione response forcing herself to look back at the detective, pushing her half drank glass in Sherlock's direction. He takes her glass without a word still staring at her in an unnerving way drinking the contents before passing the glass off to John.

"It's my pleasure," he tells, finding his voice as he takes her hand and kisses it. Hermione smiles indulgently taking a step closer. She tries to pull her hand free but his grip tightens. He never looks away from her face. "If I'm not mistaken this is where you persuade me to cooperate with your organization." he smiles at it is almost Hermione's undoing.

It is rare to find such a tempting man, but Hermione is made of stronger stuff, she is not some silly girl.

"I will warn you I am not a man easily seduced no matter how allure you are in that pink dress and pearls." Sherlock tells her and Hermione can feel her insides flare at his chauvinistic words.

"I very much doubt that, Mr. Holmes, seduction comes in many forms." Hermione explains with a sweet smile taking another step towards him willing to play. "If you cooperate with W.I.M.P. I will show you incredible things; magic, mystery, angles and demons, a whole world of possibilities that you have scarcely imagined...But I will warn _you_\- do not make the mistake to assume that we need you. I simply though you might want to play?"

And this was the siren call that Hermione knew Sherlock would hear, temptation of flesh was wasted on a man like this. His weakness was the same as hers: He wants to know it all and to the point he wants to understand it.

Knowledge was his temptress.

Sherlock's expression was completely candid before he quickly and unsuccessfully forced a frown in attempt to cover up his excitement. Then Sherlock spoke three little words confirming he was up to her challenge, "Dance with me." It was not a question but it was said in a husky tone, and Hermione observed his pupils dilate as he pulled her to his side, his arm wrapping around her waist with such casualty it was almost like she had belonged there her whole life. His other hand grasp hers tightly, his fingers firm as they slid down to her wrist like a caress. Hermione smiles comprehending his ploy, but she is unable to slow her pulse as he twirls her around and takes the lead, guiding her through the familiar dance steps.

"You are dressed far less vulgar than I had anticipated, pink hardly seems becoming on a woman that can break and enter without leaving a trace." Sherlock states like want he just said was not rude. He adjust them, just so, pulling her closer to him. He looks down at her his breath on her face, it smells of champagne. "I had anticipated something far more auspicious than a little girl, with plaited hair and a crippling complex of failure. You seem far too young to be liaison of an international secret."

"Or perhaps you are too old to be frolicking around London playing cloaks and daggers with an army of one at your side. An old dog unwilling to learn new tricks." Hermione smiles in response, refusing to show she was insulted. Instead shifting her hand so it is on the back of his neck, she was all too willing to prove that she was capable of being his equal. "You are welcome to your deductions. After all I have witnessed firsthand how your preconceived views skew actual facts. Blinding you to truth. May I ask are you not fond of women in general, or do I just rub you the wrong way?" Hermione makes sure to allow her smile to reach her eyes while Sherlock glares darkly at her.

"I very much doubt you are a woman at all, but it is not a single gender that I find appalling lacking. It is how most women rely on emotion and feeling to guide them in life, resulting in silly outcomes that do more harm than good. They are, I have observed, called the weaker sex for a reason. Men on the other hand, for the most part, are quite capable of thinking logically, unless a woman is involved."

"Know from experience?"

"Ah are we talking about exes, then could we touch on the finer points of the red headed shop keep?"

"Yes Ron. Lovely man, one of my best friends, one of my worst boyfriends. I'm sure our love lives would be vastly entertaining most of my exes would tell you I'm insane. What would your say about you? I would guess that it wouldn't be that you are extremely modest."

"How observant, I am informed that is not one of my finer virtues but I am sure that anything you can do, I can do. Perhaps even better." He arrogantly declares.

Hermione laughs. "Oh? Then you wear these heels for the rest of the evening. I would love to see you waltz in them."

Sherlock smiles again.

The silence between them is comfortable and it is apparent that Sherlock is thinking about something. Hermione closes her eyes focusing on the music as he leads her. When she opens her eyes he is staring at her with a bemused expression.

"Let's dance all night, just the two of us. Then I'll take you back to my flat and share all my secrets with you, Miss Granger, after all why steal something when it can be offered freely?"

"Perhaps it is the temptation of the forbidden." She tells him her double meaning making his eyes narrow in on her.

"I am looking for a new flat mate." He blurts out, it sounds like an offer of some kind.

"I'm not sure…?" She can't put into words what she thinks she is hearing, because it was absolutely absurd that he would be asking her to move in with him.

"Oh, you understand exactly what I am suggesting. You could be my new handler. John went and got married, my flat is very spacious, two rooms. And I have my own lab…" He is trying to make the arrangement sound tempting, but Hermione can't get past the fact that a bloke she just met was asking her move in with him.

"Mr. Holmes." Hermione starts to spell out the illogical conclusion behind the pure ludicrously of his suggestion.

"Sherlock…if we are going to live together you should call me Sherlock." He sounds incredibly sure that the arrangement will work.

"I never said I was going to live with you. Besides, I'm living with Harry."

"Yes and when he purposes to his girlfriend," Sherlock shrugs. "The offer is an open one. If you find you need a place."

Hermione is shocked, she simply is uncomprehending. But then this was Sherlock Holmes, she had heard about him and what he was able to observe but this was the first time she had witnessed his brilliance first hand.

Harry had been looking at rings for weeks now.

"I…" She did not know what to say.

"Here." He says letting go of her long enough to fish into his pocket and pulling out a key offering it to her. "From now on nothing of mine is forbidden. You had it right; we can share. What is mine is yours. Why make enemies of those that should be friends?"

Hermione stares at the key like it is offensive and somewhere along the way everything had gotten horribly twisted. Hermione had never anticipated this. "And what is mine is yours? No, Mr. Holmes you don't get to mock me. You're not nearly as mysterious as you pretend."

"Very well impress me." He tells her taking a step back from her holding his hands out to the sides. Hermione is frowning. "Pease, if you are as clever as they claim- read me. Let us clear the air, so that each of us comprehends what the other is capable of."

"Doubtful this is your best idea. Worse than you suggesting me to room with you." she looked affronted.

"Why is it such an awful thought? In the shadow of absurdity you have proven that you can out smart me! Now I only ask to see the proof with my own eyes!" Sherlock shouts causing many people to look over at them with reprimanding stare.

"No." Hermione concludes her head held high, her voice stern but barely a whisper.

"No? Why not? Are you afraid you will show yourself for what you are?" Sherlock mocks.

"I don't have to prove anything to you. I will not play your little game, because you miss the entire purpose of making the deduction, Mr. Holmes." Hermione sternly explains.

"It is my game, therefore how could I possible not know the purpose of something I invented?" Sherlock asks.

"It is about finding the person not the pressure point." Hermione declares making Sherlock frown.

"How sentiment just like a woman. Filled with weak emotions looking for meaning in a higher purpose. Perhaps it is your gender that I detest, hissing her lies, selling her body and using her mind only in a struggle towards power that she has no idea how to control. Finding the person, Ha! I had thought you were different, braver, sensible... I did not even know I was lost."

"Course not, most people don't know when they are. And the ones that know they are lost seldom stop to ask for direction, because it is too embarrassing. You, however, are not lost. You are undoubtable exactly where you have been the majority of your life; like a mouse on an exercising wheel going around and around, with no end in sight...in a maze of your own creation." Hermione spells out, at wits end with the insufferable man.

Sherlock laughs, "Then tell me: who am I?"

"You are Sherlock Holmes. Every one of your flaws are so deliberate it is perceived as self-destruction, but you do not fool me. Your bruised ego aside I comprehend even this game. Your tells are so blatant and practiced that I am surprised no one has called you out on them before. Everything you do is so that you can be free of sensor, breaking down every expectation that your loved ones have of you so you are free to do anything you need without the complication interpersonal relationships. There are bad people. Truly awful monsters that slip between the fingers of justice, so that is where you hide, a man capable of anything to protect those he is loyal to...you are truly a beautiful man, clever and brass. Yet you have missed the key component within the game you play…and ultimately this is why you cannot see past your world of two, resulting in the stunted emotional growth of a juvenile delinquent."

"And what component is that, Miss Granger." Sherlock asks sounding amused by her deduction.

"It is not about destruction, it is about salvation. Understanding a person and why they are who they are; only when you find them can you then save them, or destroy them. And it is a man with both, logic and emotions in balance that can know in which way to act."

"And what would you know of destruction. A woman child, as innocent in temperament as she is in appearance." Sherlock asks loudly looking intrigued by her words.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking me a child. Or of trying to preserve a falsity of innocence that you believe still lingers somewhere behind my comely face. I may look like an angel but my temperament is not angelic. My emotions are not a weakness, they are my greatest weapons, because if my loved ones are threatened or injured I will not be broken, but renewed in vengeance and my wrath is not as forgiving as my empathy. I love just as fiercely as I hate, and do so without fear clouding my judgment." Hermione yells back and Harry is suddenly at her side.

"Hermione, come." Her best friend coax her away from the detective standing within arm's reach looking at her like she is the most fascinating person in the world.

"Then what is it you fear?" Sherlock asks moving to block their way.

"Oh Mr. Holmes a clever man like you will have to figure that out." She tells him as she stares at him unwilling to move, Harry again pulling at her arm.

"I look forward to it." Sherlock declares, then his lips on hers. One hand at the base of her neck the other slipping the key in her left hand and then he is walking away and Hermione is trying to catch her breath as her best friend pulls her through the audiences that had gathered to watch her and Sherlock like their argument was the highlight of the evening.

Hermione is sitting in a plush chair at home, she can hear Harry in the kitchen. There were many points of the evening that Hermione was confused about. The biggest one being the key that rested securely in her pocket. Hermione understood the kiss- had been a ruse to put her off kilter, and had momentarily worked. Not because the kiss was mind blowing but because it was an act contritely to Sherlock Holmes' personality. It was just illogical; such an intimate gesture, particularly for a man of logic. But then Sherlock was not above doing what he must to get the results he wanted. Lies and games, his honesty harboring along the fringe of withholding evidence. And that is why she understood the kiss for what it was- he was trying to tempt her with his own preconceived value in his looks. He was smart enough to know he could not appeal to her with false chivalry, or an admiration of kindred spirits in the pursuit of justice.

No, Hermione could all too easily follow his thought process down the rabbit hole. She had, after all, called him beautiful and he took her pulse, and she understood he would misinterpret those signs as physical attraction attempting to bend that knowledge to his advantage. Only Hermione had also observed that vein along his neck, and his own pupil dilation when he spoke to her, signs he was not nearly immune to her charms as he claimed. But physical attraction is not enough to turn Hermione into a malleable giggling girl any more than it could cause Sherlock to play nice.

Still he was willing to play and somewhere along the way him inviting her to share a flat, made sense in his twisted logic. And that is when it hit her, the whole reason of his ploy. Clever man, Hermione thought as she pulled the key out and examined it.

After all what better way to keep an eye on a threat than to keep them within sight.

At this realization Hermione was almost flattered. That Sherlock Holmes saw her as an adversary.

"I know that look." Harry cuts into her thoughts placing a cup of coffee in front of her, taking the chair beside her.

"You are going to try and fix him aren't you?" Harry asks, the implication that it was Sherlock of whom, he spoke did not need to be put into words.

Hermione smiles, and shrugs. "No… There is no fixing a man like that. He is perfect just the way he is, well he could use some work on sincerity."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Then you are going to handle him, get him to play nice?"

"Oh, Harry. Where's the fun in that? You know how I love the players, and Mr. Holmes loves the game." Hermione states wistfully twirling the key in her hand. "Tell me, when are you proposing to Ginny?"

"Don't know, why?" Harry asks sounding concern.

"Because I think it is time I give you your space."

* * *

A.N: Sorry about the slow update for this chapter. They weren't wanting to play nice with each other and so I decided to go with it instead of forcing them to get along, and then the tension was so thick that I was trying to keep them from tearing each other to pieces before chapter four. Enjoy and I will update as often as I can manage. Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Baker Street Irregulars**

The victims have been piling up for three days and Bill Wiggins was freaking out. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be on their side, he was supposed to be their protection but the man had no answers for the deaths of eight tramps who were all under the employment of the famous detective.

It's John that calls Inspector Detective Greg Lestrade asking for police assistance, while Sherlock kneels next to the body of a middle aged homeless man. The detective finishes examining the dead man and is intrigued by the lack of evidence. It was like a ghost killed him, no apparent wounds or signs of struggle. This was not a violent death it crept up quietly. Perhaps poison or strangulation, though there was no clear signs of vomit, aspiration or asphyxiation

"Have the bodies take to St. Bartholomew and an autopsy done. Give the addresses of the other seven murders to Scotland Yards." Sherlock motioned to Bill Wiggins who nodded with understanding.

"Yeah alright. It's a dangerous life on the streets. None of us expect much, but this is related, isn't it. They died because of their connection to you...Is it true? Is he back?" Bill asks staring at the back of Sherlock's head wanting an answer.

The detective stands with the dead man's phone in hand flipping through outgoing messages, stopping on the most recent one, a picture sent to a blocked number, the photo encrypted. Sherlock is unable to open the file.

John is the one to step in and try to appease Bill's concerns. "There is no proof to suggest that Moriarty is back. But until we find the killer, keep your head low." Is John's advice. Bill nods looking to Sherlock who is ignoring everyone save the phone.

"What about that video feed?" Bill presses, clearly not willing to take their word as gospel.

"A secret service man's idea of a joke. Jim Moriarty is dead." Sherlock speaks up before walking away from the crime scene without another word, his attention back on the phone.

John and Sherlock have lunch in the sandwich shop. Sherlock pockets the victim's phone when his rings with a text alert.

\- _Where do I sleep?_

The look on Sherlock's face is one of amusement, which molds into an entertained smile as he texts his reply.

-_the empty room is yours, but you can sleep wherever you want._

Sherlock places his phone on the table taking up his drink ignoring John's questioning stare.

"Well what did Molly find?" John asks.

Sherlock shakes his head, "Not her."

"Not Molly? Then who was it? Lestrade? Or Is Mycroft at the dentist?" John presses.

"My new flat mate had a question." Sherlock states casually, John chokes on his sandwich.

"You didn't tell me you had a new flat mate. When were you going to introduce me?" John asks, sounding excited by this new development.

Sherlock pulls a face that answers John's question. "You already met her." Sherlock's response is too detected indicating there was more to this than he was willing to vocalize.

"Her?" John looks flabbergasted by this development.

"Yes, her. Don't sound so shocked, John. It is a simple enough arrangement. Miss Granger needed accommodations, I offered her your old room." Sherlock explains like it is no big deal.

"Have you been seeing her?" John asks. "It is not every day you asked a woman to move in with you!?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I haven't seen or spoken to her since the auction. The offer was made under the pretext of professional respect. Nothing more." Sherlock logically explains.

John sits back folding his arms in front of him. "That was three months ago. How long has she been living with you? I didn't see anything to indicate her living in your flat this morning." John is clearly confused by this timeline.

Sherlock looks at his phone and at the time stamp on the text. "It has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds since Miss Grange and I have started to share a flat." Sherlock answers sounding irritated.

"Well this is not going to be good." John predicts aloud looking concerned for his friend.

Sherlock latches on to this sitting up straighter eyeing John suspiciously. "Why? Because I'm difficult to live with? Well we got on just fine." Sherlock sounds incredibly defensive.

John shrugs, "You kissed her. I saw you kiss her and now she is sharing a flat with you. Sherlock don't you think that odd?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow as if considering the implications of John's observation. "Odd no. Why would that be odd? Curious perhaps that she is just now taking me up on the offer. I had expected her to move in much sooner, but then Mr. Potter must have finally worked up the nerve to pop the question to his girlfriend. It does surprise me that a man of his background and mental state would drag his feet to alter." Sherlock rambles.

"What question?" John asks.

"Marriage. Of course Marriage: the end of an era." Sherlock spits out.

"I am happily married. And my marriage didn't end anything. We still do what we do. It hasn't changed anything." John reminds his friend his tone indicating personal insult.

"Not everyone can be so lucky." Is Sherlock's snide reply.

"Right." Is all John says, finishing his lunch. "Well have fun." John offers to his friend grabbing his coat to head home.

"Wait, you're not coming up, to meet her?" Sherlock wants to know, acting surprise.

"Oh no. Your Miss Granger is scarier than my pregnant wife. I am not at all enticed to accompany you into the eye of the storm awaiting upstairs in 221 B." John concludes with a tilt of his head and strained smile.

221 Baker Street had been overrun by hooligans. Young people of all different variation coming and going with arms loaded with boxes or furniture; yelling, listening to loud music, and dressed inappropriately. Mrs. Hudson was overwhelmed by the noise and crowd, particularly when a round faced young man came out of her kitchen holding a pot of her medical marijuana commenting on her expert gardening skills.

The land lady turned and ran up the stairs to ask Sherlock what exactly was happening that was when she heard the detective's bellow of outrage from the landing. Mrs. Hudson stopped in the door way to witness Sherlock once more shout at his new flat mate.

The woman had arrived that morning introducing herself as Hermione Granger before ushering in the group of young people who assisted in helping her move in and turning Sherlock's world on its head.

"You can't put that there! What are you...? Those papers were organized!" Sherlock yelled pacing back and forth from the bookshelf to his desk and back.

Hermione was standing arms crossed looking ready to do battle with the insufferable man. "Organized chaos? No, Mr. Holmes, you are a pack rat. Look at this...a pile of newspapers from ten years ago? Toss them!" Hermione declared motioning for a gangly red head to do as she says.

"Don't." Sherlock warns stepping between the young man and the pile newspapers. "You don't get to throw out my things without consulting with me first." Sherlock informs a glaring Hermione.

"This is me consulting. Name one good reason you are keeping dried out newspapers? They aren't any good to put under any experiments and all the information in them you can pull up from archives on your lap top?" is Hermione's logical argument. Sherlock just stands there trying to rack his brain for any kind of defense. "You don't have one do you?" She questions glaring at him.

Sherlock twirls around pointing at Mrs. Hudson, like he just had the most wonderful epiphany, "My housekeeper has not found the need to toss them." Is the man's argument.

Hermione rolls her eyes running a hand through her curls, "Not a viable reason. Your housekeeper she either an enabler or more concerned about the illegal drugs she has grown in her garden, to actually tidy up this place. Your flat is a mesh pool for biohazard contamination, it is a wonder you have not contracted some kind of disease. Besides, you are a grown man. You could pick up after yourself!"

Sherlock throws his hands in the air. "Boring!" He declares throwing himself in his chair like a child.

"I am not his house keeper." Mrs. Hudson declares from the doorway. "And that is oregano." The land lady defends herself.

Hermione smiles and nods like she believes her. Sherlock stands, "I will admit that there is a level of sanitary neglect that has transpired in John's absence, but…" Sherlock shakes his head. "I need those." Sherlock whines, when Hermione maneuvers around him and picks up the stack of papers and places them in her friend's hand. "To the dumpster, George." She commands and the red head named George obeys shooting Sherlock an apologetic look.

Sherlock's text alert goes off and the detective pulls out his phone. Three new bodies found, Sherlock doesn't have time for these petty disputes. Particularly when there was evidence to back up her claim. Sherlock looks around his flat and realizes that Hermione might actually have a point.

"Fine!" Sherlock once more bellows standing looking renewed. "In fact throw it all out. I don't care, just don't touch my cigarettes." Sherlock demands grabbing his coat while heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks entering the flat with another box.

"Out. Any luck and you lot will be gone when I return." Sherlock declares turning to get one more glimpse at Hermione who has opened his refrigerator and is examining human eye balls in a baggie before placing them in the crisper.

"Pick up eggs, Sherlock." Hermione instructions, turning her attention to the milk. Sherlock watches her unscrewing the cap sniffing the milk making a disgusted face. "And milk." she says and Sherlock is confused how any woman can be grossed out by sour milk but not human eyeballs in a baggie.

"John did the shopping." Is Sherlock's argument as he dons his scarf.

"Well I am not the doctor." Hermione comments as she continues to clean out his refrigerator.

Sherlock frown looking at her wondering if he was making a big mistake allowing her such free access to his flat.

"You better hurry on, the police are waiting for you. That text you received must have been urgent from the way you dashed around the apartment all joyous over the prospect of the new murder." Hermione encourages as she examines some kind of green mush in a bowl.

"How did you know it was murder?" Sherlock wants to know.

"Why else would you smile even after I rearranged your bookshelf and threw out your newspapers?" Hermione deduces causing Sherlock to frown at her back.

"Don't wait up." Sherlock proclaims walking out the door, deciding that having this woman where he could keep an eye on her was certainly one of his better ideas. If she caused such havoc on his flat who knew what trouble she would get up to in the real world.

Sherlock almost plows over Mrs. Hudson, it is her shrieks that cause Sherlock to pause.

"She has a very strong personality, doesn't she Sherlock? I could offer her 221c if you would preferred to keep your space." Mrs. Hudson offers looking concerned.

Sherlock's frown deepens as he examines the land lady. "What? Don't be silly, the dampness would not allow it. Miss Granger will just have to adjust. Then everything will work." Sherlock concluded turning to walk back up the stairs a sudden spark breathing life to a new idea.

Sherlock walks past Mr. Potter and a red head woman, the ring on her finger and stars in her eyes indicating she must be Mr. Potter's new fiancé

Hermione was still in the kitchen the shop keep named Ronald reprehending her in hushed tones.

"Intelligent woman like you...you must know how this will look. You living here is completely irrational, you could come live with me...if staying with Harry is no longer an option. My flat has two rooms." Ron was clearly trying to talk Hermione out of living with the detective.

"Ron...I know this might be hard for you, but we agreed to remain friends. I'll like it here..." Hermione reassures.

"That man is insane. He has human parts in his ice box. You are not safe here, with him." Ron tries for bluntness but Hermione smiles like it body parts in the crisper is nothing to lose sleep over.

"Well you called me insane not too long ago, by that logic Sherlock and I are perfect for one another." Hermione argues and Sherlock walks past them forcing himself not to smirk as he makes his way to Hermione's room, grabbing her pea coat that was an alarming shade of red, before venturing back to the kitchen.

"I am worried about you, so is Harry. You have to understand with your work… it puts you in a very dangerous situation… you are not protected here." Ron seems to warn his ex's of something and Sherlock files this away for future examination.

Sherlock leans against the doorframe, "I would disagree. Miss Granger staying here is quite sensible. With me, is actually the safest place in London." Sherlock argues startling the red head shop keep.

Hermione smiles, her eyes drifting to her coat in his arms back to Sherlock's face, and he wonders what she is thinking.

Ron rolls his eyes, "I very much doubt that, aren't you on your way to a crime scene?" Ron asks his own implication hanging in the air without comment.

Sherlock nods, "I am." He confirms his attention turning to Hermione who is no longer smiling her brown eyes wide, curiosity filled to the brim. "Yet, I did promised that if Miss Granger moved in; we would share everything, including crime scenes. Now didn't I?" Sherlock inquires, observing Hermione's cheeks flush at his intense stare.

"I have work tomorrow." Hermione says like this vindicates her of the obligation to accompany him.

"I am not Mr. Potter." Sherlock shoots back and Hermione smiles again, Sherlock decides he likes her smile.

The detective holds open her coat letting his eyes dare her to make the next move.

She is the one that invited him to play, he is only moving the game along.

With clear resignation Hermione turns gracefully, allowing Sherlock to assist her with her coat, she is tying the sash when the detective speaks.

"Don't you think that red is a bit auspicious, how do you sneak around while wearing something that screams 'Here I am!'?" Sherlock interrogates as she twirls to face him.

Hermione flipped the collar up in the same fashion Sherlock has many times over, eyeing him very seriously. "I am very fond of this coat. Besides I thought it screamed more 'come and get me'! Than 'Here I am.' You will learn that either works in the scheme of things." She informs him. "I guess we will be back late, let yourself out will you?" She ask turning towards Harry who nods.

"Course Hermione, but if you need back up…" Harry trailed off, the offer understood.

"Oh Harry, I think the two of us can manage." Hermione tells her friend as Sherlock wraps an arm around her and practically drags her out of the flat.

The tension was suffocating. From the moment Sherlock ushered Hermione in the taxi, holding the door open with the pretense of a proper gentleman, to the lack of personal space he allowed her in the taxi. The detective was practically sitting on her lap, his gaze directed on the road as he dictates their destination to the cabby.

"Could you perhaps scoot over, I can hardly breathe?" Hermione request, Sherlock acts surprised that he had boxed her in corner as he slides over as far as the backseat will allow.

"Claustrophobic...Does my closeness bother you? It could be a sign of an underdeveloped amygdala or projection of pent up sexual frustration." Sherlock comments waving his hands about looking at her like his deduction was spot on.

Hermione simply rolls her eyes, "Or I'm not the one projecting my own frustrations to try and put others on edge. Do I really unnerve you that much?" Hermione inquires flipping her hair off a shoulder. She was dressed casually, her wild curls loose around her shoulders making her appear more amiable, than she had at the charity.

Sherlock looks offended.

Hermione pressed on now was as good of time as any to clear the air. "Perhaps we should lay down some ground rules? Like personal space, and privacy."

Sherlock's cheek twitched and his attention turns fully to her. "You moved in with a private detective what makes you believe you will have any right to privacy?"

Hermione leans back in her seat. "So John had no privacy? What if I want to bring a chap home?" Hermione asks bluntly.

Sherlock appeared shocked by the question, he looks out the window as if considering the circumstances before turning back to her with an answer. "John rarely brought women over. I don't see the value of such an arrangement. When seeking physical fulfillment one partner most typically ends up disappointing the other. But I suppose arrangements can be made. I assure you, however that, mentally I will be companion enough." His assurance caused Hermione pause. She knows better than to divulge into a hidden meaning because the man was just too practical for him to be suggesting what someone else might read from this statement. His arrogance aside, she knew there was credit to his boast.

"Good, not the jealousy sort then? I won't be kept under lock and key. Not by anyone, be they friend or lover." Hermione warns.

Sherlock nods, he can read the insecurities. Someone has tried to put her in a cage before. He can practically hear John's warning to back off, to let the subject breath and for the moment not press this particular pressure point. So Sherlock files it away. "Well I am not the jealousy sort...ground rules then: you shop, I don't like stores I do have an international reputation. Too many fans." Sherlock changes the subject and it is somewhat endearing the way his cheeks flush.

Hermione lets the tension breath, intrigued by his hidden confession. Perhaps Sherlock was more human that what his brother claims. "What a burden for you." she comments pleased by his glare. "If I do the shopping then you do the dishes." Hermione negotiates getting back to more pressing concerns.

Sherlock pulls a face, the:_ that_ _is not going to happen you must be mad_, face. "I take out the trash. Mrs. Hudson does the dishes and dusts."

Hermione shrugs, apparently unconcerned by this claim. "And if she is on holiday?" Hermione presses.

"Mrs. Hudson take a Holiday? England would fall to ruins!" Sherlock declares and Hermione gives the detective a pointed look.

The detective sighs rolling his eyes. "Very well if Mrs. Hudson ever goes on Holiday I'll do the ...dishes, but I don't dust or sweep." Sherlock concedes feeling comfortable in the agreement and confident such a thing will never transpire. "There is something that I have been curious about..."

"John...you want to know how I knew his name?" Hermione interrupts.

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow, "Yes, but no. I had assumed at the time you had been debriefed on us."

Hermione was already shaking her head. "I had never heard of you until the day at Walter Hitch's crime scene. After Harry called me that second time and gave me your name I made inquiries and found out about you and your partner." She shrugged and let this information sink in before pressing on. "Alright then what are you curious about, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock paused, opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish out of water. "W.I.M.P. What does it stand for?" he wonders.

Hermione smirks leaning forward looking the detective in the eyes. "Alright, pick one. What do you want to know more? How I knew John's name or what the abbreviation of my organization stands for?"

Sherlock realizes that this woman is by far the most dangerous person he has ever met. She knew exactly how to tempt him, how to seduce the mind over the body. And Sherlock was ensnared because even a cold man of logic is a victim to his emotions no matter how much he pretends otherwise.

"How did you know Dr. Watson's first name?" Sherlock question is in a husky tone, as he realizes that he had just been played. She didn't want him to know anything about the organization including its real name, so she dangled something personal on the line. And like a fool he took the bait.

"The angle in which John Watson held the camera allowed me a view to his pocket, where his ID was. From his body language and hair cut I could tell he was an army doctor, the only two letters I could make out on his ID was J and O. Most logical conclusion was that his first name was John. I had of course considered Joe, Joseph, Jonas, or Josiah, but a man of his years and lack of letters visible indicate something more practical like John."

"How very observant of you, Miss Granger. You might actually be of some use." Sherlock tells her apparently delighted by her deduction.

Hermione smiles. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you, Sherlock." Is her cheeky response, as the cab pulls up to St. Bartholomew.

The three victims had all been found in the same alley. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was waiting outside the morgue arms cross pacing. It was clear there was a new development that he couldn't wait to share. "About time, I just about..." His voice trailed off as he looked at Hermione a recognized dawning on his face.

"Miss Granger. I didn't know you were coming. I called my man first, like you told me. But it is good you are here, there is something you should see." The detective inspector states graciously opening the door for Hermione before squeezing in behind her smiling like a besotted fool.

"Sherlock is not the only link between these deaths. It seems that all of these victims also have another common factor, all of them sent a single message moments before their deaths. A picture message." Greg says ushering them into an office where a lap top is set up, pictures of Hermione clearly brought up on the desktop. "All the picture messages sent, were of Miss Granger and they were all sent to a blocked number, a number we can't trace."

"Incredible... these...I had my homeless network on surveillance of Miss Granger, but I never got a response. These date back to night I sent out my mass text." Sherlock shares missing Hermione's look of reproach.

"You were spying on me?" Hermione asks.

"I paid them for information that I never received. So who where they sending these to?" Sherlock wonders aloud ignoring her outrage. "It took me years and a substantial amount of money to build up my network of informants. How can this be?"

"Oh Sherlock." Hermione sighs sounding patronizing. "Don't trust people who sell secrets. Chances are they will at one time or another sell you lies. And the price for those are simply too high."

"Thank you Miss Granger for your sentiment. How could you possibly understand what this means!" Sherlock shouted. Lestrade jumps, but Hermine simply stares at the detective unimpressed.

"Clearly your network of informants were working for someone that paid better and once they became a liability, they were disposed of, there could be more murders. I'll need to examine the bodies. I had been aware that I was being followed, however, I had assumed it had to do with work." Hermione rationalized.

"You seem to know quite a bit about this sort of thing." Lestrade comments.

This seems to upset Hermione her smile vanishes as she glares at the police man. "In my line of work I see a lot of misguided ties of loyalty and very little regard for self-preservation." Hermione shares. Sherlock notes her eyes get misty and he wonders if she is playing them all.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger you are not a suspect." Lestrade seems to back up, reading a vulnerability that Sherlock doesn't believe.

"Of course she's a suspect. Logically she was in the same area as the victims and she has motive." Sherlock argues, motioning to Hermione like she is suspect number one

"She is no more a suspect than you are, Sherlock. Why don't you wait outside?" Lestrade give Sherlock a pointed look. "The morgue is through here." Lestrade, offers his arm to a wide eyed Miss Granger escorting her into the morgue.

Molly is in the middle of an autopsy when they walk in, elbow deep in a homeless person's chest cavity and Greg Lestrade turns white, and flees out the door. Sherlock's eyes are on Hermione who casually takes off her red coat, hanging it on a rack by the door before putting on gloves and joining Molly at the gurney.

"Have you found cause of death?" Hermione requests looking expectantly to Molly who is staring pink cheeked at Sherlock. Molly's eye lashes flutter shut as she turns her attention to Hermione.

"I was just finishing up. No determination on cause of death, his stomach was empty just like the others, and just like the others there is no traces of poison in his system." Molly explains. "The hyoid is intact, I can't find any trauma. It was like all eleven of them just keeled over dead for no apparent reason."

Hermione has tears in her eyes when she turns to look at Sherlock. "I'm sorry." She says backing away from the table. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry." She is ripping the gloves off and throwing them away before dodging out the door with a loud bang.

Hermione Granger was proving to be too emotional for a woman that is unmoved by dismembered body parts.

Sherlock attempts to go after Hermione, Molly's hand on his sleeve stops him. "Let her calm down." Molly suggest as the detective shrugs the coroner off and dashes after Miss Granger.

He searches all the obvious places and a few other that he takes refuge in, when he can't find her he goes out back and lights a smoke.

Hermione finds him. His back is towards her, his fingers nibble as he takes another drag.

"Are you okay?" She asks announcing herself, walking over to stand in front of him, examining him with concern like he is the one that just had an emotional breakdown.

Sherlock observes her: ruffled hair, blood shot eyes, there were still tears on her cheeks. He tries to think how to comfort her, "People die. That is what they do. There is no need for me to shed a tear."

Ok so he was rubbish at being comforting.

The corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. "No course not. However, besides me, you might just be the only one to spare beggars and thief an afterthought. So you smoke...sending them off with a salute by killing a bit of yourself. That is personalized mourning." Hermione observes and there blossoming before Sherlock's eyes is a soft smile.

Sherlock purposely rolls his eyes, "What a dark observation. " He comments putting his cigarette out.

"Doesn't make it less true." She whispers reaching over and pulling a leaf off a tree branch examining it. "Death is a human condition, it is not the act or the lost that should be mourned but the missed life."

"Sentiment, I don't see the advantage of caring. Like I said everyone dies." Sherlock tries to sound detached and logical. The moon light is playing tricks on his imagination, the way her skin glows even in the dead of night, is like she is an angel; her words unworldly laced in logical observation.

"Right, but not everyone lives. So many miss opportunities… that I find terribly sad." Hermione says her tone like a song as she twirls the leaf between her fingers before letting it float to the ground. There is an imagery there, Sherlock notes as he watches her watch it fall.

The silence a stale mate between them.

She is all grace and composer when she looks up into his eyes," I won't have you slowly murdering me by smoking in the flat. I'll see you at home." She quirks an eye brow challenging before calmly walking away. He watches her trying to come up with something clever to say his heart beating faster the moment she turns the corner, he can no longer see her. Sherlock breaks into a run, determined to catch up with her determined to see her back to the apartment safely.

When he turns the corner, she is gone. No sign of her anywhere it was like she vanished into thin air.


	5. Chapter 5

**Getting to Know You**

People were staring and that is why Sherlock Holmes never goes shopping. He places the milk and eggs on the counter making eye contact with the teller who is gawking. "That would be all." Sherlock says to the man to induce him into ringing up his purchase, instead it seems to create an opening for the man to make conversation.

"Ain't you that famous detective? The one on the tele that killed himself then rose from the dead. Blimey that's incredible, that is! Tell me how'd you do it?"

Sherlock ran a hand down his face annoyed. It was always the same questions with people. No one actually thought things through before opening their mouth, but then by the teller's horrid word choices and poor hygiene it was more than likely the man didn't thinking much at all.

"It was an interacted plan involving top secret government equipment including a teleport ring the American's loaned us from area 51. Now can you ring me up?" Sherlock asks irritated.

The teller nodded wide eyed completing the purchase and Sherlock leaves the store arriving home before ten. The flat was empty, no Miss Granger or her friends so he puts the groceries away something playing about in his head about the question from that store teller. Wasn't it obvious that it was a wide orchestrated plan involving hospital staff, Mycroft and a handful of his homeless network? That made the detective pause. His homeless network could it possibly be connected? Sherlock did not have names but most certainly Mycroft had kept track of who was involved with project Lazarus. Sherlock makes his way upstairs to Miss Granger's room she is asleep in bed. He throws open the door and flips on the light. She is instantly awake, her hand under her pillow and her eyes assessing him from across the room. Sherlock wondered if she slept with a gun under her pillow. She slowly sat up, unarmed rubbing her eyes.

"What is it?" her tone is husky filled with sleep but Sherlock is too excited to care sitting on her bed.

"I picked up eggs and milk." He tells her and she looks at him vexed.

"You woke me up to tell me you went shopping. I know you're a diva but couldn't it have waited until morning for me to praise your efforts." She asked, laying back down covering her eyes with her arm.

"No. Listen, a while back I faked my death and used my homeless network as accomplices. I do not recall who all was involved, Mycroft handled the paticulars, but we might consider a connection." Sherlock explains as Hermione sits up in a hurry, her pajamas sensible flannel pants and an old t-shirt, she stuffs her feet into fuzzy slippers pulling out her phone and heading out the room.

"Great, thank you, Sherlock." She is now fully away walking from the room calling someone on speed dial.

Sherlock reaches over to lift up her pillow to find nothing underneath part of him is disappointed. He had been so sure, that she was reaching for a weapon.

He joins her in the living room.

"Mycroft." Hermione says into the phone and Sherlock pauses looking at her pacing, wondering when she became so familiar with his brother. "No…everything is fine…I know… I have a lead. Something about Sherlock faking his death….I want a list of every person that was involved…ok lunch…I look forward to it. Goodnight." She hangs up the phone turning towards Sherlock who has a wounded expression.

"Since when are you and Mycroft so chatty?" He asks like an accusation. "Is he on your speed dial?"

"Well yes, I did tell him I would spy on you for money, it seemed right to place him on speed dial." She tells him with a tilt of her head and the look of shock on Sherlock's face is so candid Hermione raises an eye brow in response. "I didn't think you would mind since he already has level four surveillance on you. It's not like I can tell him anything he doesn't already know. Beside I found it poetic to have your brother to finance our living expense, I am after all trying to save for a house."

"So you are up to splitting the fee?" Sherlock inquired. She smiled and shakes her head like he was a delightful comic.

"You are getting your cut in the form of rent." She informs him before retiring to her room without another word. Sherlock is astounded to find she has locked her door.

Hermione Granger was a horrible flat mate. She was like a sickness infecting every aspect of Sherlock's life in a revolving manner that only made the detective want her around more.

His flat had been scrubbed within an inch of its life, and Sherlock was amazed by the convenience of changes. He could actually find things, like the magnifying glass he had lost a year ago it was tucked neatly in the top drawer of his desk. Not to mention Sherlock had thought his bath tub was a beige but apparently it was a pristine white when cleaned. Apart from the undergarments that hung over the shower rod, and potpourri around the flat, Sherlock would be bold enough to declare she was slowly adjusting.

Hermione worked long hours and went out with friends multiple times a week, she was rarely at home.

So in attempt to encourage her to stay in Sherlock set up a chess board and left it on the coffee table in hopes it would catch her attention on her way through. When she returned from work she greeted him, her eyes drifting to the chess board before shaking her head and continuing on to her room. It took her twenty minutes to change, so Sherlock moves first, making eye contact with her as he motions to the board. She walks right on through and out the door with only a chipper "Goodnight, Sherlock".

So she wasn't a chess player, there were other games. He tried checkers next, to no avail, then battleship, operation, and a multitude of other board games to which she simply rolled her eyes and wished him a good night. Finally he realized his error, he needed an exciting game, and clearly they shared a single interest solving crimes so he sets up clue.

This one halts her feet as her eyes scan the game she is dressed casually and Sherlock can't help but wonder where she is going and why he wasn't invited. "Are you playing by yourself, again?" She asks, adjusting the purse on her shoulder looking at him with kind eyes, like he was a pathetic creature and she was there to show him mercy.

Sherlock sets up straighter in his chair motioning to the board willing to take what he was given. "I was hoping we could play a game together." He tells her as she sets in John's chair and picks up the stack of cards on her side of the board.

"Alright I have time for a quick one. I'm sorry I have been working late, and then I've been busy with helping Harry. Next month I'll be around more. I do love this game, no one will play with me. You go first." Hermione motions to the board courteously, her eyes on the cards in her hand. Sherlock files everything she just told him away focusing on the match before him, ever the opportunist he does not object to going first rolling the dice and making it to the study. "Alright it was Scarlet in the Study with the candlestick." Sherlock declares moving the pieces into the study just as John had taught him to play. Sherlock was determined to adhere to the rules no matter how illogical they were in actual crime solving.

Hermione doesn't say a word shifting through her cards and holding up Scarlet to show him. Sherlock nods checking it off on his list.

"Do I have to go to the room, or can I just tell you?" Hermione asks, and Sherlock perks up in his chair.

"We are collecting clues, how could you possibly know the answer after one turn?" Sherlock wants to know and Hermione sighs laying her cards face up on the board.

"There are twenty one cards three of which are in the envelope and then you have nine and I have nine. Out of that nine I have four of the suspects, and with your guess I can figure out that it was done in the Study with the candlestick by Colonel Mustard." Hermione spells out for him.

"How do you know I don't have the study or the candlestick and I was not just trying to figure out the suspect?" Sherlock questions not at all appreciative of her logical deduction.

"Because only an idiot would play that way on their first turn." Hermione states. "So can I look at the evidence folder or are you going to make me move across the board?" She wants to know cocking her head to the side waiting patiently for his answer. He considers making her roll the dice, but he is too curious to not want to know if she is truly clever enough to win in one move.

Sherlock glares at her reaching over and plucking the evidence envelope up pulling out he cards one by one and throwing them on top of the game board. "It seems Miss Granger you were right."

She smiles jumping up walking around to the door. "Playing with only two player really is a disadvantage."

"Isn't counting cards cheating?" He asks, she shrugs.

"I thought that was only in poker."

"Then perhaps next time we should play a card game." Sherlock states internally curious what her tells would be. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asks looking distraught that she was walking out the door.

"Some of us have two jobs. Boring I know, but you save the world in your way and I'll save it in mine. Oh by the way I'm having friends over on the eighth, your welcome to invite yours." She informs him.

"John." Sherlock nods.

"Invite John and Mary and anyone else you like." Hermione is looking at him like his a lost puppy.

"Have you figured out who is murdering my homeless network?" Sherlock inquires to which Hermione shakes her head sadly.

"No, we are still tracking down your lead but thankfully no new bodies have shown up. I have my best team on it. When we uncover something new I will let you know." She tells him reassuringly before leaving.

Sherlock mopped for the rest of the evening and when Hermione didn't return the next morning he decided he needed a new case calling John to meet up with him.

Of course Morris was standing outside the door with a full news crew. The reporter worked for the Sun. The highlight of Morris's career revolved around writing articles about the famous blog detective and his partner, John Watson. The articles were anything from 'Fake Detective kills himself', to 'Hatman and Robin', and not to forget Morris's most recent run 'Blog detective's hat Fetish', going as far as sourcing Janine, Sherlock's ex fake fiancé to make it all the more believable.

"Is it true that the mass murders of the homeless are somehow tied to your crime solving endeavors? Some are even speculating that you are a suspect, knocking off informants that are working for multiple partners." Joseph has the microphone in Sherlock's face, the camera man over the report's shoulder.

Sherlock squares his shoulder getting ready to insult the reporter when he notices Hermione walking up the steps she wraps her arm around his waist and leans into him in a familiar way. He can't seem to slow his pulse.  
"Come now if selling false information was a crime, all the politicians and reporters would be behind bars." Her tone playful and Morris's reaction is instant, as he blushes his eyes down cast looking back up at Miss Granger from under his eye lashes.

"I don't think we have had the pleasure, I am Joseph Morris reporter for the Sun." The man introduces himself offering Hermione his hand.

"Hi Joe, I'm Hermione. I am familiar with you work, I was curious however, why you despise Sherlock Holmes?" Her question is blunt and the way she says the reporter's name dismissive makes Sherlock smile at her candor.

"I don't hate Mr. Holmes quite the opposite. His exploited have made me very rich." Morris replies with a flirtatious smile.

Hermione looks at the reporter like he is the scum of the Earth, "Interesting you switched out the wording. I said you despised him, you said you didn't hate him. So you do despise him, why?" Hermione asks again.

Joseph Morris' smile falls from his face and there is a twitch at the corner of the reporter's lip that make his right nostril flare; the emotion there and gone with in a microsecond.

Hermione's smile reaches her eyes and there is a comforting way about her as she calls the Sun reporter out on this lie. "There, see. That expression, the one that you covered up as quickly as you could, but I could still read, that is contempt. You are out to ruin Sherlock." Hermione accuses and Morris's expression morphs into outright disdain.

"So no comment then? That is all you had to say, Mr. Holmes. Better watch yourself, you got a hot wire here. Crazy bird, spinning all kinds of wild stories." Morris states as he backs away, waving his crew over. "Come on boys, we will come back later when the dog has been let off his leash." The reporter smirks at Sherlock before walking away.

Sherlock is pulling Hermione back into the flat his arm now around her waist, as soon as the door shuts he turns her around and yells in her face. "Where were you last night?"

"On a stake out with Harry. Were you worried?" Her question is really a statement, she can tell he was and Sherlock feels backed into a corner.

The detective doesn't want to admit that he does cares, particularly to this dangerous woman so soon into their acquaintance. "Course not, but if promiscuity is an ongoing habit of yours perhaps we should establish a system laced with precautions that include weekly testing."

"Your concerns are touching, but Harry and I have a system in place. No need to worry your pretty little head over my promiscuity. I thought you weren't the jealous sort?" Her timing is spot on and Sherlock understands the insult. His eye brows narrow in response to her putting him in place.

"I was handling the situation with that reporter, I didn't need your help." He changes the subject as he looks at her like she is a criminal interfering on his business.

"That is the beauty of friendship, people do things for other people without any want of payment. It's an amazing phenomenon, you should try it some time." She suggest pulls out of his hold. She is wearing the same clothes from last night and smells of men's cologne.

"I care about John and Mary." Sherlock states defending himself stuffing his hands in his pockets observing her eyebrow raise at his actions ignoring the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

She flips her hair over her shoulder and her eyes scream of a secret she was all too willing to exploit. "And Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, even your brother, though you are loathed to admit it. All of which are invited to come over on the 8th." She reminds him with a smile. "I'm tired, I'm going to bed and you should be on your way, how late are you?" She inquires and Sherlock looks confused.

"Late? For what?" Sherlock asks the answer dawning on him with her expression that screams, _really?_

"John!" Sherlock says the doctor's name realizing he had forgot all about meeting his friend in the sandwich shop. The detective twirling around to the front door of 221 Baker Street his hand on the door handle just as the door upstairs to their flat opens and closes simultaneously with the door from the kitchen.

"Sherlock?" John's voice radiating from the kitchen. "Sherlock are you home?" John shouts again.

"In here." Sherlock shouts back as John walks through the door frame.

"You forgot didn't you?" John asks shaking his head.

"I got preoccupied." Sherlock admitted. "Miss Granger came home and…"

"I forgive you. What case are we working on?" John cuts across Sherlock and Sherlock looks at his friend like it is conspiracy.

"Just like that you forgive me?" The detective wants to know, feeling like he is being set up.

John shrugs like it is no big deal. "Well yeah. Not the worst thing you have ever done." The doctor admits wiping the back of his hand across his nose.

Sherlock is immediately suspicious, "Still generally you are a bit more vocal about my transgressions before you just let them go." Sherlock declares, tilting his head just so looking at his friend.

John pulls that expression like he is searching for the right words. "Did I see that reporter from the Sun walk past, was he giving you a hard time again?" John adverts the subject at hand and now Sherlock is incredibly suspicious.

"Stopped by looking for an interview." Sherlock dismissively answers before resuming their conversation ignoring John's attempt to change subjects. "Why is this time different than the others, where are your insults and theatrics, John?" Sherlock inquires not willing to let the issue drop.

Again John shakes his head. "We have a case don't we, let's get started on that." John suggests, looking at the detective from under his eyebrows.

"This is about Miss Granger isn't it? You approve of her…in some way…" Sherlock follows the nonverbal clues.

"She is a sweet girl, you two have a lot in common." John admits and Sherlock is horrified.

"Christ, John! Miss Granger is notably the most dangerous person I have ever met. I invited her to stay with me so I could keep an eye on her and her secret organization. You are trying to set me up with a potential criminal. She is not sweet! Have you seen what she did to my flat? It smells all weird. This is all part of a scheme for her to lure me into a sense of false security before she strikes." Sherlock is talking fast moving his hands about a clear indicator he is upset. "She is having a 'get together' in a few weeks and told me to invite my friends. Why would she do that if not to sleuth out information to use against me? Clearly her motives are suspicious. What kind of woman moves in with a man she barely knows?" Sherlock asks like this proves his point.

"The kind that can read people more accurately that the pompous Sherlock Holmes. Admit it you're threaten because she does your job better than you. She is beautiful and she doesn't rub people the wrong way. I suspect that secretly you admire her. Hell, you might even like her." John spells out and Sherlock looks completely offended.

"Ever the romantic John!" Sherlock spits out like it's an insult. "She warned me to not mistake her as an innocent just because of her beauty. In many ways she is more alluring than the woman and far more dangerous than Moriarty. I suspect that her secrets have secrets, she is a proper spy her security clearance out ranks even Mycroft, whom now she even has in her pocket. Don't you understand that I alone am the only one that sees what she is…I must remain vigilance." Sherlock finishes and John is looking at him like the detective has gone mad.

"So you do like her. Think she's pretty and alluring, and clever. You want her around." John states all of this with an outrageous smile plastered on his face.

"I would have to be blind, deaf and dumb to not observe Miss Granger's charms, but the way she handled that reporter was all to telling on exactly what she is capable of. Take the murders of the homeless network, it seems suspicious that it is those with pictures of her on their phones that are being targeted. The case I called you about is elementary, a simple adultery, but it is a cover because we need to look into these murders and find out exactly how Miss Granger is involved. Somehow she is linked to the crimes. She might even be the one committing them. She knew what killed them without even looking at Molly's reports. John, I could be living with a serial killer!" Sherlock finishes sounding ecstatic about the prospect.

John wipes his face with his hand, suddenly feeling extremely let down by how deaf, blind, and dumb Sherlock Holmes really was. Every one of Sherlock's informants were sure to have a picture on their phone of Hermione. The detective had sent out a mass text asking for information on her, and while eleven bodies have been recovered, that is not saying there were more out there yet to be discovered. Right now Miss Granger's connection only stemmed from her connection with Sherlock.

"Have you considered that her connection to the murders leads back to you?" John voices.

Sherlock frowns at his colleague. "Yes of course, but I mean to eliminate several possibilities, starting with tracking down every one of my informants, which i have mapped out using their mobiles. That is what we are going to do today, see if we can find any more bodies."

"It would sound better, if you said we were going to check up on them make sure they are all ok." John coaches ignoring the excitement on his friend's face.

Again Sherlock frowns clearly confused, "That is what I said." Sherlock affirms adjusting his scarf.

John rolls his eyes following Sherlock out of 221 Baker Street.

The situation was escalating there was absolutely no evidence to support cause of death. Out of the 30 tramps Sherlock and John tracked down four of them were dead. And to make matters worse the body of a little boy no older insects then nine was with one of them. Sherlock had no idea who this child was the police was informed and the bodies were taken back to St Bartholomew's for further examination.

Two of Sherlock's theories were proven wrong at further examination of the phones. None of which had pictures of Miss Granger, except the phone found with the tramp that was murdered in the same alley way as the boy.

Lestrade apparently called Hermione who arrived promptly with Mycroft whom she had been lunching with. Mycroft left the morgue stiffed back, nose in the air choosing to wait in the other room. Hermione's first reaction was to look to Sherlock all wide eyed wanting answers, when he shook his head, having no explanation to give her, she walked calmly over to the gurney and pulled the sheet back from over the child's face. Hermione had been composed up until the point she recognized the child's body. Then she broke down crying, her fingers gently ran through the boy's thick black hair as she looked over her shoulder at Sherlock. "This was my fault. I told him not to get involved, stubborn bear." tears streamed down her face as she shared this.

"We should notify his parents. Who was he?" Lestrade asks, sounding gruff.

"Doubt he has any of those." Sherlock supplies with a shrug watching as Hermione looks back down at the child with tenderness.

"Once upon a time, perhaps." She softly supplies, pulling the sheet back up to cover the boy's face.

"Who was he to you?" John asks from across the room, looking rattled.

"He was one of my elves." Hermione said in earnest and Sherlock doesn't understand why she would call the child an elf it seems insulting even to the detective.

"Who are you Santa Clause?" Lestrade snidely asks.

"I told him not to get involved. I told all my elves to steer clear of this mess. Bear was obsessed with keeping me safe, belief it was his duty." Hermione shares, wrapping her arms around herself clearly feeling vulnerable.

"So you use children as informants? Orphans?" John asks, like an accusation.

"Sure." she response nodding but sounding detached pulling out her phone and texting someone, Sherlock's guess would be on Mr. Potter.

"You two really are made for each other. You, Sherlock, have your homeless network and she has her band of merry elves." John states rolling his eyes and shaking his head, the doctor's judgment clear.

Hermione places her phone in her pocket tears still running down her cheeks. "Harry will come pick up the bodies. " She tells them, purposefully turning to face Sherlock her arms encircle him without hesitation as she lays her head against his chest, hugging him. Sherlock hesitates, feeling exposed as John and Lestrade stare. "Just wrap your arms around me and pretend like you give a damn, Sherlock." Hermione instructs to which Sherlock obeys. Pulling her closer kissing her forehead. Pretending to care is not as hard as one might think for the high functioning sociopath.

Sherlock might have evidence that Hermione wasn't directly linked to the murders like he first suspected, but that did not mean she wasn't involved. That was why caring was not an advantage, because all Sherlock wanted to do was hold her, to wipe the tears from her eyes to believe she wasn't manipulating him. But for all he knows this is just another move in the game she invited him to play. So he holds her like she requests. Even strokes her hair in a comforting motion as they wait for Harry Potter to arrive.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'll be Your Coat**

Hermione Apperates a block away from the flat to avoid raising suspicions. She has been up all night and is incredibly tired all she wants is to get back to the flat and catch a nap. Hermione knows she is being watched monitored not just by the wizard community but by her roommate as well- even with Sherlock's eyes and ears being snuffed out. Hermione was not delusional in the fact that Sherlock thought her a prime suspect in these murders. The morning headlines, however, suggested a far more likely suspect in all caps. 'FAMOUS DETECTIVE PLAYS GOD'!

Joseph Morris has out done himself, pointing fingers at Sherlock with only circumstantial evidence to back up the claim. Hermione had already been on the phone that morning with both Mycroft and Lestrade both of who were at work to have a retraction publish, but the damage was already done.

This was going to upset John Watson far more than it would Sherlock Holmes.

There is a little girl in red cowboy boots and a lumpy face sitting on the step curb outside of 221 Baker Street, the ratty brown hair, untidy dress and empty bottle in her clench fist an all too familiar sight.

"Winky?" Hermione greets the elf as she approaches only to be ferociously glared at.

"There the rotten girl is! She shows up after making me wait for hers all night long!" Winky hollers standing with a drunken sway pointing a nubby finger in Hermione's direction. "You gots Bear murders!" the elf accused.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair sighing deeply. "In a manner of speaking." she admits holding out her hand. "Give it here. Last thing you need is a drink." Hermione says reaching over to pull the bottle of gin out of Winky's hand. The elf hides the bottle behind her back stumbling a bit as she continued to glare at Hermione.

"I knows you would be the death of all elves. I told them. First Dobby and now Bear! His was all me had." The elf tells Hermione, Winky's big brown eyes filled with tears.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I told him to return to you while we waited for the bill to pass. Told him to stay safe and to keep all of you safe. Stubborn elf didn't listen." Hermione states firmly, once more reaching over for the bottle this time she plucks it out of the elf's hand with little effort.

"Nasty girl stealing Winky's things!" The elf yells and Hermione shrugs turning the bottle over and emptying the remaining alcohol out onto the pavement before handling the bottle back. Winkly looked at the bottle offended before her big eyes honed back in on Hermione. "Tricky mudblood. I hates you. Bear thought you more important to protect than stupid elves. You free him and so he didn't have to listen to you. Bear got to decide and so did Dobby and nows they are boths dead. And it is your fault." Winky hisses and while Hermione knows that Winky is trying to hurt her with words, there is something about Winky's taunt that is actually comforting to Hermione. Because she did feel guilty about Bear's death, but his death wasn't her fault.

"Thank you, Winky. You are right. Because of me Bear had the opportunity to do what he thought was right. A choice he wouldn't have had if it weren't for my work. And while I don't agree with the choice he made I can respect that the decision was all his, just like you said I was not his mistress and he did not do want I begged of him, he did what he thought best."

"You is a dangerous girl! Breathing hope into lost souls making them want things they shouldn't want. I hope you knows what you are doing." Winky tells Hermione wiping tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Bear said if anything happen to him, make sure you get this." Winky pulls out a vanilla envelop handing it to Hermione. "The elves whisper that your bill passed. It will be announced tonight. Remember everything that happens from here out, is your faults. Only yours. Elfs and Wizards are not equals. And they shouldn't be." Winky states firmly and before Hermione can argue Winky turns and runs into a dark alley, vanishing with a pop.

House elves exhausted her, by the time Hermione walks up the stairs all she wants is a shower and bed.

Instead she gets Sherlock wide awake bustling around his kitchen working on some kind of experiment.

Hermione takes off her coat hanging it on the coat rack walking over to see what Sherlock was doing.

Distilling a toxin from belladonna. He looks as if he has been at it all night trying to get the correct concentration.

"You heard then. Your murders where poisoned." Hermione asks announcing herself. Sherlock looks up with blood shot eyes in need of sleep.

"Yes, Molly called said you found poison in the toxin screen of the boy. Whoever the murder is made a mistake, he had not anticipated the child. The concentrations were for an adult, measured out carefully to be metabolized fully before death so there would be no trace in the system. She also said you found small puncture wounds on the scalps of the victims. Any theory's on administration?"

Hermione shakes her head. "No I don't know how the poison got into the system, the point of entry is too small to be a syringe. I will look at options once I have gotten some sleep." Hermione says kicking her shoes off sitting on the couch. She suddenly feels too tired to climb the stairs to her bedroom.

Sherlock stretches, a clear indication that he has been standing for hours. "I have finally calculated the concentration right. We need to put together a list of suspects and see who might have purchase this poison recently." He explains taking a seat next to her. "You will need to compile a list of your enemies and we will have Mycroft check them out." Sherlock throws an arm around her shoulders and she is too tired to do much else but curl up beside him leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Me? I would say that all this is a personal vendetta against you. After my lunch with Mycroft I would deduce that this is revenge against you for tearing down a terrorist cell belonging to a dead man." She shares with a yawn.

Sherlock nods sleepily, sitting back against the arm rest pulling her closer to his side so her head is on his chest, she can hear his heart beat a steady soothing drum. "Yes I have complied my list. Already gave it to Mycroft. By the way what did he mean about the Theater?"

Hermione smiles and closes her eyes only for a second she tells herself. "He invited me to see Les Miserable with him next month."

"You can't go!" Sherlock tells her firmly, his command having a finality to it that Hermione was too tired to reprehend.

"Why not? It is one of my favorites?" She asks.

To which his reply is "My parents too."

The significance of his argument does not register with a tired Hermione, her last thought before she falls asleep is that perhaps they should be invited as well.

They awake to a door being slammed shut. The imposing figure of one Draco Malfoy sneering down at the couple curled up together on the couch asleep in each other's embrace.

Hermione sits up adjusting herself so she can stand, not completely composed when Malfoy marched over and pulls her up to stand by her arm. Sherlock is there pushing Malfoy back a dark threating glare is exchanged between the two men.

"Don't touch her." Sherlock practically growls and Hermione rolls her eyes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your breaking and entering Malfoy?" Hermione snidely asks slipping her shoes on.

Malfoy is still glaring at Sherlock his cold emotionless eyes turning to Hermione slowly before he thrust a newspaper forward.  
"Though you ought to know, that your precious bill was passed." He tells her like it was all his doing and none of the work she had put in had any merit for its approval. And by the time Hermione was done reading the article, written by Rita Skeeter, Hermione knew there was truth to his arrogance.

"You bribed them to pass it!" She accused and Malfoy's stupid smirk just about made Hermione see red. "How could you do that, they would have passed it without your involvement. Now if they do an internal investigation all my hard work will be for nothing!" Hermione screeched and Malfoy looked pleased with himself while Sherlock moved to stand beside her. She could feel the fathom touch of his hand at her back, like it hovered there protective.

"Oh please, Granger, enough with the dramatics. An internal investigation will never take place, and if it does your hands will remain clean, as always. I told you I can be very generous and forgiving." Malfoy states his cold stare flickering to Sherlock then back to her. "You know I have to marry Astoria but there would be a place for you in my home." He makes his stupid offer again. One night stands only equaled a declaration of commitment in a psychopath's head.

"And as I told you before: Fuck you very much for your concern. Now get out." Hermione says thrusting the newspaper back at Malfoy. Her tone chipper similar in regards as if another person was giving thanks to a friend.

"Granger…" Malfoy says her name pleading, but it is Sherlock that steps in blocking her from Malfoy, his tall frame looming over Malfoy intimidating.

"Hermione asked you to leave our house and as it is you can either leave via the stairs or out the window. Your choice." Sherlock states his dead span expression and monotone making it very plausible that the detective meant his words.

Malfoy's pale face and wide eyes were clear indicators that he took the detective's words seriously. "At least I'll never have to say I didn't try. I'll let myself out, Mr. Holmes." Malfoy says turning and walking out the door. His foot step heavy on the stairs.

When he is gone, Hermione rounds on Sherlock "I didn't need your help, I can handle the ferret just fine without your interference." She firmly states. To which Sherlock tilts his head his response mirroring her own from yesterday morning when she defended him against the Sun reporter.  
"I thought that is what friends do: help one another without want of anything in return?" He looks confused by her glare, and Hermione can only shake her head impatiently.

"That would sound more believable if you didn't say it with so much disgust."

"I just find it suspicious, you told me to not confuse you for an innocent, but the mounting evidence points to the fact that you have nothing to do with these murders. I'm starting to conclude that you are a silly girl that wants something that is incalculable and completely illogical from me."

"And what exactly is that, Sherlock? Friendship."

"Yes, Miss Grange! I don't have friends, I have a friend."

"Then perhaps you just haven't found the right people."

"Are you claiming you are the right person for me?" He asks smoothly like he had been leading her down this path of confession.

"Well yes of course. Haven't I been singing just that thing since the moment we met over the phone? I am on your side, Sherlock. And well, you have only treated me as a criminal, suspicious of all I do."

"That is because you have a secret, I don't know what it is but it eclipse the rest of your honesty. Makes every fact out of your mouth sound coherently suspicious." again he is accusing and Hermione hopes one day to discover exactly who made him so suspicious of the world.

Hermione sighs deeply, not in distress but like she was patiently preparing her answer.

"Everyone has secrets, Sherlock. Including you. How many secrets can you keep? Because I'm not about to share mine, until I am positive you will not use them as a weapon against me. You are still looking for my pressure point. Will you not stop until you find it?" She asks of him, looking at him hoping he can comprehend how concern she is for his own disability to see and accept the whole person. "Can you not just love without wanting to destroy?"

"Whoever said I loved you? Love is a woman's folly."

At this her stare softens because she can see below all his bluster. "Who said I was referring to me? So you care, I dare say it won't be the end of the world." She reassures him.

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at her. "Do you have plans today?" He asks changing the subject.

"Yes I'm going to go see our friend Joe Morris of the Sun, and then I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson before Harry arrives with my surprise party. Did you remember to invite your friends?" Hermione fills him in heading in the direction of the bathroom, wanting a quick shower.

"I thought that was for the eight? There is plenty of time."

"Today is the eight."

"Oh well then…" Sherlock pulls out his phone looking down his nose at the device his fingers busy no doubt sending out a mass text, Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'll accompany you on your interrogation of Morris." He invites himself hurrying into the kitchen tucking his phone into his pocket. He stops and turns back around, "If Mr. Potter is throwing you a surprise party then how do you know about it?" Hermione hears him shout as she reaches the bathroom.

Hermione smiles as she turns the faucet on, leaning back out the door, "Because, Sherlock, I don't know if you have noticed but I'm quite clever!" She shouts back shutting the door unable to hear any response he might have for her.

Joseph Morris office is a catch all for worldly artifacts. The man had obviously at one time had a very serious career as a world journalist. Now he was a fluff reporter only able to sell stories on local celebrities. No wonder the man disliked the private detective so much.

"You've been to South America?" Hermione asks examining a mask of Aztec descent.

"Yes. I have been to North America, Middle East, Africa, and got to go to Asia once. I go where ever the job sends me." Joseph tells them leaning back in his chair like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"How about dark alley ways with poison darts?" Hermione asks picking up a Fukiya and turning so Sherlock can see it. "This looks promising! Look how small the needles would have to be, 13mm in diameter, very promising." Hermione points out handing the Japanese weapon to Sherlock.

"It's still loaded." Sherlock notices, turning the weapon to face Joseph whose face pales as the reporter stands with his arms defensively in the air.

"That was a gift and it is very fragile, please put it down." The reporter asks and Sherlock puts his mouth up to open tube.

"What kind of toxin do you suppose is on the end of the dart, Miss Granger? A sedative or poison." Sherlock guesses.

Joseph's fear is real.

"The dart's proper name is a Fukibari, Sherlock. The weapon is better known in Western countries as a blowgun. The Fukiya is distinctive to other blowguns, due to its lack of mouth piece. Many people associate it with a ninja weapon." Hermione informs calmly in her know-it-all voice, walking over to stand beside Joseph her eyes never leaving the man as she approaches. Sherlock has the Fukiya still aimed on the reporter. "Well there is only one way to find out." Hermione says watching as Morris' eyes widen, he looks scared enough he might just wet his pants.

"Wait!" Joseph begs and Sherlock lowers the weapon looking accusingly at he man.

"You have taken 12 lives, please tell me why yours should be spared." Hermione asks her voice ice as she stares the man down.

Morris seems to the relax with the impending danger being lowered, he obviously has no fear of the woman, and he has been stalking Sherlock for so long that he knows the Sociopath needs a hard push to do more than give him a threating glare.

"Because I am the puppet master. I make the news. My truth is the only version that anyone needs to hear. Me, killing those tramps was a gift to the city, I was cleaning up the street. "

"Christ not another one." Sherlock states with an eye roll completely unimpressed. "You're a fan? The B type?" Sherlock asks putting the weapon down and taking out his hand cuffs.

"Is he serious?" Hermione asks talking the handcuffs. She is not gentle when she throws the reporter face first into his desk knocking him out. With her tiny statue and the fact that she was a woman took the men by surprise. Neither expecting her violence. Sherlock is standing there looking at her like she is scary. Hermione just shakes her head in the detective's direction, to which Sherlock shrugs then with a hand gesture indicates for her to cuff Morris.

Lestrade arrives in five minutes to find the reporter already handcuffed to the desk. Hermione hands over the recording of Morris' confession and Sherlock the murder weapon.

It is raining when they leave and Hermione left her coat back at the flat do to the lovely weather earlier that day. Sherlock flips up the collar of his coat against the rain getting ready to step out into the storm.

"I'll just met you at the flat." Hermione says, planning to Apperate as soon as she is alone. Instead Sherlock opens his coat and tucking her under his arm, "I'll be your coat, Miss Granger." His tone is husky and Hermione's heart just about melts. There is something incredibly romantic about his suggestion and she can't seem to slow her breathing as he leads her out into the rain storm, protecting her against the weather as he hails a cab.

* * *

A/N: It is a bit short but I liked the chapter ending this way. This story is taking longer to write than I anticipated. Sorry for the slow updates, but given my track record be assured I'll finish it before taking on a new story.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Sweet Taste of Defeat**

Mrs. Hudson has already closed shop by the time they returned to Baker Street. Sherlock and Hermione are greeted with a boastful welcome; the air smelled of food, people were already drinking and there was a huge banner that read_: Congratulations, Hermione!_

Hermione smiles and thanked everyone, as she makes rounds with hugs and kisses. Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Angelina, Lee, Susan and the Patil twins are all there; as well as all the Weasley children. Hermione appears properly surprised to the all but Harry who shoots her a knowing look before giving her a quick peck and hug.

Mycroft is the only one there that belonged to Sherlock and while he smiles his fake smile and pats her gently on the back Hermione can only smirk. The man was trying too hard to make nice with her and it was incredibly amusing.

Ron is the first to state the obvious when he gets a hug, "Why are you wet, 'Mione? First in class don't you know how to stay dry?" He earns a good swat on the back of the head by George.

Harry is quick to interject juggling his drink in one hand and his fiancé who is hanging on the other.. "Sod it, Ron, looks as if Hermione forgot her umbrella, is all. This morning was beautiful." Harry and Hermione look at each other again, unspoken words conveyed, then they both look to their friend irritated. A silent message is exchanged between the three of them and Ron's ears go pink before he looks sheepishly to Sherlock.

"Come on now, let's get you dried off before you catch a cold." Ginny offers, cutting into the quiet, stepping away from her betrothed to usher Hermione up stairs.

"We'll help." Parvati and Padma say in unison following the girls up the stairs.

"Well I want another drink!" Susan declares, Ron is quick in obliging her.

Mycroft is busy making inquiries to a group in the corner. "What exactly are we congratulating, Miss Granger on?" He asks snootily. Neville looks to Dean who looks to Seamus all three seem at a loss of how to answer the muggle man's question.

"Hermione's work with her elves. Her bill for humane treatment, and her safe house has all gone through." Luna's dreamy voice carries across the room and the crowd goes quiet.

"Her orphans. She is a humanitarian, then?" Mycroft is the first to speak sounding pleased by this discovery, it was always in good taste to help those less fortune.

"Excuse me." Harry says, his piercing green eyes on Mycroft as he makes his way to the stairs.

"Think I'll check in on our guest of honor."

Harry knocks once before letting himself into her room. Hermione is changed her hair still damp as she braids it. Parvati and Padma are chatting about the bill and what it means to the wizarding community when Harry enters.

"Girl talk why wasn't I invited?" He teases and Ginny's face lights up. The twins blush. "Could I have a few words with the woman of the hour?" He requests. They file out Ginny gets a quick kiss before Harry shuts the door behind them.

"You text earlier and said you needed a favor?"

Hermione stands walking over to get the envelope Winky had delivered. "Yes. I need two favors actually. These are just pictures of me, from mobile phones. I need you to cross reference them with the phones we found on the murder victims from Sherlock's homeless network and set up a time line. Something is not adding up. Also I need a full background check done on a Joseph Morris."

"The newspaper man. The one that murdered all those people?" Harry asked.

"Yes... Well there is an element to this case that I am not seeing. Everything was just too tidy." Hermione rationalizes. "Another thing I can't get out of my head is that they were all poisoned, including Bear. But why didn't he just Apperate away?" Hermione wonders pacing.

"Caught by surprise, puncture wound was in the back of his head." Harry reasons.

"Yes, but the poison wouldn't have killed him instantly. So why did he stay in that alley way to die? Why not pop off somewhere else, somewhere he knew he could get an anti-venom?" Hermione logically works out.

"He was an elf, they are not the brightest. Perhaps he hadn't known he was poisoned." Harry suggests.

Hermione is already shaking her head. "No, you can't lump all elves into a category of ignorance. It is not their fault they are uneducated and just like people, some are smarter than others. Bear, was smart, clever even. He knew what he was getting himself into, he knew the stakes and he chose to die. Why?" Hermione asks, not wanting an answer just trying to work it all out. "He stayed in that alley way so I would find him. All of it means something more, I need more facts."

She declares facing Harry who pulls out his note book to take notes.

"Alright one background check coming up, so a Rita Skeeter or Voltemort?" Harry asks and Hermione tilts her head like considering his question. "Better go Old Voldi. Don't trust anyone. This stays between us."

"Like always." Harry states, standing. "Already keeping secrets from your new man...tis tis...let me know how that works out." He follows with a smirk.

Hermione smiles, "Sherlock is not my man and I'm sure you'll see the flames from Grimmald Place." Hermione assures her friend with an eye roll.

"Does he know that?" Harry asks, continuing with a warning. "You don't see the way he watches you, his eyes consume you, Hermione."

"He doesn't trust me, and he never will." She sounds so final about her words unpersuaded, that anything such a logical man does could mean more than the core of his nature.

"Because you won't let him see the real you." Harry explains.

"Yes and when has that ever worked in my favor? As Ron likes to remind me, I'm scary, insane and a know-it-all." Hermione shares leading Harry back down to the party.

"I'm still here, so is Ron in a manner, he doesn't mean any of it; not in the insulting way. You knew who he was when you chose him. Ron has always been the jealous sort."

"I had thought he would mature with age." Hermione reasons.

Harry looks at her with disbelief out of the corner of his eye. "If you thought that Ronald Weasley was a fine wine, then perhaps we should add delusional to your list of virtues."

Hermione swats Harry on the shoulder.

"People change, they grow and learn from their mistakes." Hermione argues.

Harry laughs. "Yep definitely delusional."

Hermione is ambushed the moment she makes it down the stairs by two identical faces leering at her as they block her path. "Fred, George." Hermione greets looking at each twin when she says their name.

"He's Fred, I'm George." Fred claims his ornery smirk in place.

Harry smiles walking around the group, leaving Hermione at their mercy.

"Then I get to be Harry Potter, tosser that abandon's his best friend!" Hermione says loud enough to earn a casual wave from a retreating Harry. "Now if you will excuse me I am already late for my party, pop off the both of you." Hermione demands in that bossy tone of hers, moving to walk around the pair of trouble makers.

"She always knows, Fred. There is no fooling our brilliant girl." George says, as both twins once more blocks her path.

"We have something for you." Fred states pulling out a gift bag with pink tissue paper.

Hermione looks at the bag suspiciously weary of their pranks. "If I get a black eye..." her warning is met with a playful smile from Fred and a look of concern from George.

"Come now, after all these years you still don't trust us? That hurts, Hermione Granger." Fred puts his hand over his heart, faking emotional turmoil.

Hermione gives them one more warning glare before unwrapping her present. It is a red plastic squirt gun, with bright yellow accents, filled with something purple. "What exactly am I looking at?" Hermione asks holding the muggle toy up and pointing it at the twins.

"It is filled with grape jelly!" George sound positively gleeful.

"Why grape jelly?" Hermione asks.

"Why not?" the twins answer in unison.

"Harry said we couldn't bring fireworks..." George says with a shrug.

"Because of the muggles." Fred reasoned.

"So Fred had the brilliant idea of muggle squirt guns!"

"And since it is your special day..." Fred does a silent air drum roll.

"You get to be on our team!" George announces.

"No!" Hermione shouts, making the twins' smile fall before a mischievous glen sparks back to life and Fred continues as if Hermione had not spoken.

"You get first dibs, but I would really like a chance at the overstuffed peacock in the pinstriped suit. Do you think he smells something funny?" Fred asks not expecting an answer. But Sherlock Holmes slides around the corner no doubt having been eavesdropping for longer than what is polite.

"No afraid that is just the way my brother always holds himself. What are you up to? Why are you hiding out in the stair well, while your friends consume Mrs. Hudson's kitchen?" Sherlock asks. While Hermione tries not to glare as threatening at her nosy flat mate as she is at the Weasley bookends.

"Hello, Sherlock." She greets, nailing casually expertly. "We are just arming ourselves." Hermione explains, holding up her red squirt gun with a nod.

Sherlock's eyes widen as he looks at the object intrigued. "Whatever, is it filled with?!" Sherlock inquires.

Hermione shoots him in the face, sticky grape jelly all over his mouth and nose. He flinches instinctively before his tongue darts out licking his lips. "Ah grape jelly. Nobel choice. Where is mine?" Sherlock purrs, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his face off before holding out his hand expectantly.

"You want to be in?" George asks surprised.

"No one invited you." Fred states, looking upset.

Sherlock looks very serious as he declares, "Yes well if anyone gets to squirt Mycroft with grape jelly then I have more right than anyone here. Except perhaps Miss Granger. Did he take you to Palace for lunch? Of course he did; the food is blain and the atmosphere boring, you're more likely to get food poisoning than service. Which would be enough reason to ruin Mycroft's newest tailor suit with something sticky, though I usually envision brain matter..."

Hermione is smiling up at him the whole situation was completely absurd, when she cuts him off, "Alright Sherlock." Hermione says, holding her gun behind her back and doing a quick duplication spell pulling out its twin to hand to the detective.

The look on Sherlock's face is like a child on Christmas morning. "Battle plans." Sherlock leans in his plastic weapon loaded as he takes command.

"Point." George says with a goofy smile.

"Shoot." Fred finishes.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Element of surprise is good, but..."

"Hermione should go first." Fred interrupts and George nods.

"They will never expect Madame Rulearethereforareason to crash her own party." The name they gave her is always said with a horrible Russian accent. Hermione swats at George as the twins cackles at her expense.

"This one never breaks a rule. She is a stickler for them." Fred informs the detective and Sherlock is looking at them like their data does not compute with his own findings.

"She broke into my flat and stole sensitive information." Sherlock's accusation is met with approval by the red heads.

"They grow up so fast!" Fred mournfully declares reaching over to pull affectionately on Hermione's braid, teasingly. She swats at him glaring.

"We taught her everything she knows." Fred boasts.

"Well Harry helped." George interjects. Hermione shakes her head at them remaining silent.

"But we set Harry on the road of the Marauders, therefore..." Fred argues.

"Mathematically, we are the reason Hermione is so compromised!" George agrees.

"You want to see compromised." Hermione asks, reaching over and taking Sherlock gun from him pointing both toys at the twins.

They smirk at her and she shoots grape jelly all over the front of their sweaters. "Looks like you are out. Sherlock and I will handle things from here on." She smartly declares still glaring at them.

"Double crosser!" Fred shouts.

"Are we really out?" George whines.

"Its' her day, we better do as she says. She did just murder us in cold blood." Fred reasons pulling his shirt off. "I hope you have club soda!" the twins make their way to the kitchen.

Sherlock waits until they are out of ear shout. "Everyone else has gone out to the garden to admire Mrs. Hudson's flower beds." He informs Hermione.

Hermione holds out one of the red plastic guns to Sherlock. There is something tempting in the way he is looking at her as he takes it. It is like he can hardly comprehend what he reads on her at that very moment. "Come Sherlock, you can have my back." Hermione offers a smile blossoming as she leads the way out the back door knowing he will follow.

Sherlock tilts his head, her smile contagious as one forms on his own face. "You and me against the world?" His question is more a statement of pleasure, like the idea was a simplicity of life's greatest facts. So agreeable that all he could do was follow her into battle; their victory the flavor of grape jelly.

Everyone helps Mrs. Hudson clean up, well everyone but the Holmes brothers. Mycroft bows out the moment his suit is stained and Sherlock ducks upstairs when chores are mentioned. It is as much fun cleaning up as the party had been. The Weasley's throwing dishes around in the air as they wash and put them away. Neville and Luna have brooms and Parvati and Padma trash bags as they play a game of tossing trash into the bags with the brooms. Everyone finds an element of fun in the job, and Lee finds an old stereo putting on music, as they all dance and sing getting the place cleaned up. Hermione is not allowed to lift a finger and so she takes Mrs. Hudson by the hand and reassures the woman as she pulls her around and urges the land lady to sway her fake hips to the beat. Mrs. Hudson is laughing and in no time at all the whole house is spotless. When the last guest has said their fair wells Mrs. Hudson is still smiling swaying her body to a song in her head as she retires to her room.

Hermione goes up stairs to put away left overs in her and Sherlock's fridge. Sherlock is at his desk sitting at his lap top. He spares her at glance when she walks in. "The hooligans have all gone then?" he asks and she nods.

"Hooligans? I believe that description fits you just as accurately. Where'd you learn to handle a gun?"

"Cambridge." He answers aloof, "You have excellent aim, but I would suspect you have never actually held a real gun."

Hermione twirls around pointing at him, "Nope never, you are right! A gun is not my weapon of choice." She tells him mysteriously, walking over to pick up the book she had been reading and settling herself on the couch.

"Aren't you tired?" Sherlock inquires closing the top of his computer looking at her with that piercing stare.

She is in such a good mood that decides to put him off kilter, "I am, but I have to read before bed otherwise I have nightmares." She shares and she can tell by his expression that Sherlock finds this information a bit personal. He looks startled and she forces herself not to smile.

This was what unhinged him, humanizing an advisory.

"What have you seen that would give you nightmares?" Sherlock wants to know. He stands his eyes fixated on her expecting an answer.

She returns the stare, her own challenge as she chooses her next words with care. "I just offered you a piece of myself and in return you interrogate me. That is not how this works. You want more, you have to offer a piece of yourself in return." She lectures dismissing him, her attention on the book in her hand. She curls her legs underneath her and leans against the arm rest.

Sherlock remains standing in the middle of the room watching her every move. It is not hard to slow her breathing to focus on her book and pretend that she is alone, that nothing else mattered. She did, after all, have lots of practice. Hermione can see him out of the corner of her eye as she reads, she has always been an accomplished multitasked.

He seems to be arguing with himself there is an internal war going on in his eyes his body motionless his face stone. Then he makes a decision. His movement's fluid as he marches over and plops down on the couch resting his head on her lap his legs dangle over the other arm rest. He closes his eyes and puts his hands together, palms facing, over his mouth. "Shut up." He tells her, though she has not spoken a word.

She is shocked staring down at him wanting an explanation to a question she has no idea on how to word.

"I need to think and you are on my thinking couch. You were reading, I have no intention of interrupting you. We discussed sharing. So this is me sharing." He tells her and logically it makes sense.

Hermione readjusts herself so his head is not blocking her book holding it one handed. She has no other placement for her other hand so she rests it beside his head turning her attention back to her book tuning him out.

They sit like that for hours.

A comfortable rhythm emerges.

With Hermione turning pages, to Sherlock waving his hands silently about like orchestrating a silent symphony. It evolves into Hermione stroking Sherlock's hair as she reads silently and him blurting out words as he works through a problem in his head. Time passes and Hermione's book grows heavy. Sherlock's muttering dies down into a silence and it appears the detective has fallen asleep on her lap. One more chapter she thinks, next thing she knows Mrs. Hudson is walking in with a tray of tea and biscuits waking them.

"You two fell asleep on the couch again? Young people, you both have beds, you could take your pick. No need to be uncomfortable. You are going to have a crick in your neck young lady. As I've told Sherlock there are all sorts around here, live and let live!" Mrs. Hudson places the tea on the table as Sherlock sits up and Hermione stands to stretch.

"If you are so concerned why didn't you wake us earlier?" Sherlock asks grouchily clearly not a morning person.

"Had to get a picture to send to John! He was sorry he couldn't make it last night but things ran over at the office. You did invite him rather late." Mrs. Hudson declares brandishing her phone to show them the picture she took of them asleep curled up together.

Sherlock glares at the phone, no doubt already working out a way to have the picture expunged from the cyber world. "Is it to be black mail, then, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh Lord no, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson reassures the man bustling over to the kitchen to make coffee for Hermione as she did every morning.

"That really isn't necessary, Mrs. Hudson, I can make my own." Hermione insist chasing after the woman, who shoos the witch back out of the kitchen. "You could, I have no doubts. Now go shower while I get breakfast started, and a little lipstick never hurt anyone." Mrs. Hudson kindly informs Hermione.

"Tell that to the whales." Is Hermione's reply. Sherlock throws an arm around Hermione ushering her towards the stairs to her room. "This, Miss Granger, is a battle you will always loose. Let her be, know when you have been beat." He commands.

"She doesn't have to take care of me. I don't need her to, I am a grown woman. I can clean up after myself." Hermione says not grasping the reason behind Mrs. Hudson's coddling.

Sherlock again looks at her and his expression is one of great patience. "Perhaps you can't love as purely as you claim, Miss Granger." He deduces. "You can see the person, the whole person but you miss the simplicity of a single truth. You know why people are the way they are, you can accept it, but you still try to change them. Make them better. Yes you can make your own coffee, and I can make my own tea. But Mrs. Hudson is a caregiver without child or husband. How does a mother love?" He whispers in her ear, like an expert on a subject that he disdains. His touch is soft and Hermione doesn't understand why there are tears in her eyes.

"Actions." She whispers back, leaning against him for second before righting herself ready to accepting her own error.

"Actions are always louder than words." Sherlock reaffirms letting her go.

Hermione nods stiffly, he was right. She had a hard time seeing it, the good will of others as acts of love opposed to acts of subordinate. Her campaign to liberate elves, and Bear's sacrifice had skewed her outlook on such things.

Hermione nods again. "You're right, Sherlock." She admits aloud turning towards the kitchen. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Hermione whole heartily says, letting the landlady have her way as Hermione does as the older woman advised gathering her things and heading for the shower.

* * *

A.N: I took the liberty of keeping Fred alive per request from another story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Teacher or Student**

She was like a drug and Sherlock was very fast becoming addicted to Hermione Granger. He wrapped his days around her schedule so that he could spend more time with her, not even realizing his actions until he was so deep in that he didn't even want out.

After the surprise party she was around more, just like she promised, and like a beating heart she pumped the rhythm of his life.

He mistakenly gave her all the power.

At first it was little things to test her, conversation, experiments, even cases. He chose each with care, just to see what she was capable of and in everything she matched him move for move.

She was an excellent conservationist. Her knowledge vast; extending over multiple subjects and she knew her facts. She was able to argue with clear intellect and Sherlock found he would disagree with her just to watch her eyes flash and to hear her sternly contend her very through, well informed opinions.

Then there were the experiments; the ones he sat up in the kitchen when he knew she would be home. At first it was simple chemistry that quickly escalated to advance organic chemistry. It didn't matter if he was finding PH levels or trying to come up with an anti-venom to poison, she knew each step and how best to assist him without explanation.

He offers to take her out on cases, most the time she says 'no, take John'. But then, there is the rare occasions that she answers, 'I'll get my coat.' More often, however, if she accompanies him only on the cases she picks out. Like the one that she invited him to help with asking for him to meet up with her at a café in central London. It was another of his cases that he had been unable to solve because the suspect had gone missing, presumably dead.

Sherlock finds Hermione sitting on a park bench across the street from where their missing suspect, who is very much alive, eats lunch. The man is a potential adulterer and while Sherlock usually steer clear of such cases, Hermione had insisted they look back into this one. Her eyes are on the suspect as Sherlock sits next to her and he is surprised that she doesn't look at him but smiles sweetly.

"You kept me waiting, Mr. Holmes." She tells him in way of a greeting.

"How'd you know it was me?" He asks, wondering if he had a certain sent or gave off a particular vibe that she was in tuned to.

Her gaze shifts to him for a second, "Intuition." She tells him focusing back on the man across the street.

"You are very trusting Miss Granger." He comments adjusting his coat.

There is a fait pull at the corner of her lip, "You mean foolish. I understand the poetry of your vocabulary. You say trusting you mean foolish. You say brave you mean stupid."

"Are you trying to read me?" Sherlock asks observing their suspect. A man in his late twenties and while he is dressed nicely his portion size is rather small for a man of his built, clear indicators the man lives outside his means.

"Trying? No." Hermione assures.

"My brother and I play a game, it is called deduction. We use an object or a person and make informed statements of who they are. Do you want to play?" He invites thinking this would be the perfect way to pass the time.

"No you use prejudiced stereotypes to make informed judgment on what people are." Hermione argues. Sherlock locks his jaw scooting closer to her.

"It's more scientific than that." He informs her. "We have been living together for two months, Miss Granger. As I could read you the moment you walked across the dance floor to me. You have had weeks to decide who I am. You're clever, tell me what am I?" He was daring her. Daring her to play to understand and to once more show him what she hid from the world. What she still tried to hide from him, behind her polite little girl act. She too reads people and since she wasn't his brother; her conclusions would be far more unbiased, and Sherlock needed to know what she saw in him. For some reason her opinion mattered to him.

"I don't like this game. It hurts." She whispers, but he hears her confession. She still sees him as lacking. "But if you want to touch on painful subjects; I would prefer to discuss Redbeard."

"Why would you want to talk about him? I'm sure you have already gotten Mycroft's version and since you two are so close, there is little need for me to talk about it." Sherlock shares, keeping the sentiment out of his tone. Still he suspects she can read his vulnerability particularly when her own tone matches his detachment. Her observation continues with clinical composer.

"No, we mostly talked about Mycroft. He does, however, worries about you… constantly. His fears are unfounded. He's afraid your clever mind will turn to a life of crime then we will all be doomed. He of course didn't have to say a word for me to discern this. Why else would he pay a flat mate to spy on you, along with a level five surveillance?"

"Level five? Wonder what I did to get an upgrade?" Sherlock looks pleased by this information.

Hermione shrugs. "I'm sure it had something to do with grape jelly." She concludes and they both laugh. Then she proceeds to bring the subject around. "He kept on about how he can be trusted. He wants to know my secrets almost as badly as you do. The name, Redbeard, did come up…who was he?" She asks with such compassion and interest that he almost wants to tell her.

"He was my dog. You have lost a pet. The way you stroke my hair while you read, suggest a lap dog." Sherlock replies defensively.

"Cat, his name was Crookshanks. He was incredibly old when I got him. I let him roam and he was looking sickly. I didn't think he had much time left…One day I came home from work and he was simply gone. I don't know if he wandered off somewhere to die alone, or moved on. Not knowing is the hard part because I am without closer. I loved him…"

"Yes and…"

"I like Mrs. Hudson, too bad about her husband," Hermione cuts across him not looking at the detective as she continues the point she undoubtable was making. "And John… the doctor is what four years older than you? You are very protective of him given the age difference. Didn't you tell me that actions speak louder than words?"

"You knew what I was going to say. And so now you are using my own observations against me." Sherlock acknowledges.

"Yes. Because I am tired of hearing the Holmes's family Motto 'Caring is not an advantage.' Do you have a family crest too, perhaps one with a shattered heart? Tell me, is that what Mycroft told a little Sherlock after accidentally killing Redbeard?"

The silence is so deafening that Sherlock cannot register anything past: how could she possibly know that unless Mycroft told her. But there is the logical reasoning that tells Sherlock there is no way that Mycroft would ever speak of that day. Still somehow Hermione knew. Could she really have figured it out all on her own? There was a beauty to the way she saw the world and people. Yes Sherlock easily decided if anyone could see the truth it would be her.

"You love Sherlock and it hasn't compromised you one bit. You are brilliant and logical and you show your love in the way you treat the people around you." Hermione says breaking the silence and Sherlock can only turn and look at her wondering what he was going to do realizing she had too much power over him. "But unlike Mycroft or really anyone else you accommodate John. He means a great deal to you. And while you treat Mrs. Hudson with dismissive amount of absurdity, you understand her far better than I did. You care for her too. You are far more emotional than a scientist has the right to be, Mr. Holmes. Let's not forget I have heard you compose." She informs with insight.

Sherlock's mind is catching up realizing the direction their conversation has gone and this was the perfect opening. He could ask her what she saw of him, and she would tell him unbiased, not avoiding the question like she always did. He would just have to be careful how he asked. "What about my compulsive lying, poor hygiene, and lack patience for the ridiculous. I have been told many times I'm a pompous prick, or an arse." Sherlock argues watching her eyes soften, she looks up at him with compassion.

Hermione reaches over brushing a curl back from his ear comforting, before placing her hands back in her lap. "But you strive to achieve those titles. You like people to think poorly of you, less expectations. Then you're free to do or say whatever you want. If you were a gentleman, said please and thank you would you solve a crime faster? Or would everyone stand around pinkies in the air offering tea? None of that is who you are, all it tells me is that you are a professional dedicated to his trade. However..."

"Ah! Here we go..." Sherlock interrupts turning to give her his undivided attention as he attempts to calm his pounding heart. She looks serene as he searches for any sign that she is effected by their proximity to one another and verbal sparring.

"You see London as a war zone. There are soldier on either side, generals and those caught in the crossfire. You completely ignoring the armory filled with weapons needing sharpened; the medics that need supplies, and the intelligent agents that have no way to communicate what they have uncovered." She breaks down for him but he doesn't completely comprehend her meaning.

"How is that significant?" He asks.

She looks exasperated by his question. "Stop looking for a damsel in distress and teach the poor girl to fend for herself." Hermione states, like he is an ignorant man.

"Are you saying the world is not filled with goldfish?" Sherlock asks in a mocking tone. She narrows her eyes on him and shakes her head.

"I think we both know the world is not just filled with goldfish and sharks." She informs him her attention back on the café across the street.

Sherlock seems to be digesting this information, because she was right he did see London as a war zone and many times forgot about the importance of his allies.

"No." he says supposing she has a point. Sherlock looks back out surveying the café. The suspect is still at the table eating. Sherlock collects his thought deciding to play her game, and give her a taste of her own medicine. He could do sentiment, "I have found the prospect of categorizing exactly what kind of aquatic specimen you would be weighing on my mind, Miss Granger. And I have decided that you must be a star fish? While intelligent you have a rational insight into emotions and you do tend to inspire…" Sherlock turns to look at her wanting her full attention as he told her exactly how fond he had grown of her, only to find she has gotten up and left without a word.

Sherlock stands looking around for any sign in which direction she may have went. Then he spots her approaching the suspect casually.

She has applied lipstick and her red coat draws the man's attention before she even speaks. In fact, Sherlock, watches bewildered as the suspect purposefully knocks his glass off the table as Hermione walks by spilling the water all over her. Sherlock can imagine the conversation as the man takes his napkin and personally starts to clean Hermione off. She plays her part perfectly, allowing the suspect free range to pat her down. Sherlock can see how pink her cheeks are from where he stands and he moves to intervene as she down casts her eyes flirtatiously. Then before the detective can make it across the street, Hermione is sitting across from the suspect and he is ordering her a drink.

Hermione is at the table for three minutes she is fidgeting with something in her hand something gold and reflective. It is like watching a play as Sherlock observes Harry Potter walking over casually standing behind the suspect. Hermione's expression would indicate she had requested this back up completely cutting Sherlock out of the apprehension of this criminal. Mr. Potter stands behind the man the hostilely on the young man's face is evident to the detective as is the unseen weapon pressed into the suspect's back and as Harry pulls the man out of his chair.

"It is always a pleasure, Granger." The suspect spits at Hermione as Harry pulls him away. Hermione follows and Sherlock sprints to catch up. He turns the corner into an alley way four second after them to find it empty. Once more Hermione has vanished into thin air taking Mr. Potter and the suspect with her.

Sherlock spends half an hour looking for a secret passage way or an open door to which they could have gone, with no results he returns to his flat. Angry to be cut out of the resolution to his case, and frustrated by the conduct of Miss Granger, Sherlock pulls out his phone needing immediate answers form the girl.

After growing impatient at her inability to answer his calls, Sherlock decides that privacy is a luxury deserving of the trust worthy. He grabs his gun and shoves it into his waistband wanting to be prepared.

The conclusion is simple Sherlock determines heading up the stairs to her room.

There is nothing suspicious in her room. In fact it was rather plain and more feminine than he had anticipated. Which in part made it quite suspicious. Everything was very tidy, there was a small book shelf filled with an array of text books and the bed had a simple white lacy covering. There were no pictures or personal touches of any kind, but stranger still was the lack of electrical devices, particularly of a young person. She had a clock with a key back that would require winding daily. There was no computer or phone charger, and while there was a probability that she carried the later on her Sherlock made quick count of all the electrical outlets in her room, which was an easy feat since they were all covered in electrical tape. He stood in the middle of the room trying to figure out what made him so uneasy when he realized there was something in the corner of his eye that he simply could not look at no matter how hard he tried. He could go around an describe the color of wall paper on three of the walls, but the fourth wall all he could bring himself to focus on is the door, standing there looking at the wooden frame with the urge to quickly leave rising in the pit of his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in that pricking sensation, only he was not afraid. The urge to leave became instinct and Sherlock let himself back out of her room immediately feeling better.

The phenomenon was so strange that he repeated the exercise three more times before going back down to the flat and searching the internet for any explanation.

He found nothing.

Hermione arrived with take out and being so caught up in the mystery of her room, Sherlock momentarily forgot that he was quiet upset with her.

"Why have you never invited me to your room?" Is the first thing out of his mouth. The accusation there though perhaps there was an unintended suggestion that she immediately picked up on and decides to tease him about.

"OOh...down boy." Hermione jokes pulling down plates. "You have been in my room, woke me up in the middle of the night, if I recall, and all so I could tell you 'good boy'." She reminds him.

"Yes, but it was different then…you had a red comforter and…"

"Ah…so you finally went snooping and you realized there was something off about my room." Her smile is haughty.

Sherlock frowned walking into the kitchen to see what she brought for dinner.

"I knew you would at one point. You did warned me the day I moved in, so I took precautions. I keep trying to decide if I am going to tell you, or if I'm just going to lie about today."

"And?" Sherlock wonders, really wanting answers but was not about to beg to get them.

She stops, looks at him, and then shakes her head. "I haven't decided." She tells him before resuming to unload the food. "I could say nothing. It would be easier to say nothing. But then saying nothing could lead to relationship problems between us...and I really am happy here...then there is Harry's idea...though it seems immoral... I just haven't decided." She again is shaking her head while filling their plates. "On one hand, I trust you. On the other I just don't." She shrugs handing Sherlock his food.

Sherlock takes a bite trying to figure out what exactly she was rambling about. "What did Mr. Potter suggest, exactly?" the detective wants to know.

She makes a frustrated face stabbing her fish with her fork. "See even if I tell you that much, I am making a decision and it could be the wrong one." Hermione informs him. "You are a consulting detective." after stating this she pauses and Sherlock nods, recognizing the obvious. "From what I have observed you are not forth coming with evidence until you have a well-informed theory. You have loads of information stored in that beautiful brain of yours, so how often do you divulge that information before you are certain who to trust?" She asks and he pauses considering her question.

"Well I think we both already know the answer to that." Sherlock concludes returning to his meal.

"I think we do. So perhaps I have already made my decision." She shrugs continuing to eat like this was all a very blasé issue.

"You cut me out of my own case." Sherlock accuses concerning the violation of their partnership.

"Yes, because it is all tied together. And if I could trust you then I would have been more forth coming but you went snooping into my private affairs because your ego got bruised. So what does that say about you?"

"Everything! But we are talking about you and everything about you reeks spy." Sherlock is blunt.

I know." She again seems to be reassuring him," but if I could tell you the truth, I wouldn't need your trust." She reasons taking another bit of her food.

"So you trust me but you don't. You lie to me but expect me to trust you. And you excluded me from one of my own cases after suggesting we share. I suppose you are, now, expecting me to apologize."

"You are forgiven." She cheekily says, her expression earning a glare. "Today was a fluke. I didn't talk you into this case with the intention of taking it over. I hadn't even known who the man was until I was sitting across from him at the table. The whole set up was curious. From what you had already uncovered about the three wives all in different cities with three different aliases. Yet, not even the police could track him down. I had not anticipated him to be a wanted war criminal using women as a cover for his crimes. He is a very dangerous man; third generation criminal. We were lucky he wasn't armed, because he's the kind of crazy that would have murdered the whole restaurant to prevent incarceration."

"Lucky?" Sherlock huffed. His expressed disappointment in the form of an eye roll, earning a swat from his roommate. "Ow!" Sherlock claims rubbing the side of his head.

"Yes lucky! Murder is not a fun party game unless it is on cardboard." She lectures. ''The suspect had thought he was being clever."

"Incredibly clever, up until the point he stupidly left his phone just lying on the nightstand where one of his wives could look through it. Didn't even have a passcode. Third generation criminal that wanted to get caught." Sherlock points out.

Hermione is again shaking her head at him. "Yes that is what we should take away from this whole case; when juggling multiple families have a passcode on your mobile."

"Course not! That is just absurd. The moral is that one family is illogical a second or third is insanity."

Hermione did not try to think of something clever to say to such a telling statement. It simply rekindled that want to understand the root of his bias for so many very basic human wants. She could practically hear Mycroft's words, the matron that seemed to be the Holmes family motto.

"When is Mary due?" Hermione asks, reminding Sherlock of a family that he did approve of.

"Any time now, I got them the perfect gift." Sherlock boasted as Hermione collects the dishes and puts them in the sink.

"I know." Hermione tells him thinking of the crib that Sherlock had delivered to the Watson's home. The wood work including little foot prints of different spices of animals. "Don't forget to do the dishes." She reminds him and he looks up at her like she just said the most outlandish thing in the world. "Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister for the weekend. You agreed."

"Did I?" He ask off handily.

"Yes, the day I moved in. We were in the taxi." She reminds him, and his acting is not nearly good enough as he pretends he doesn't know what she is talking about.

"What does W.I.M.P. Stand for?" He asks.

It is a game with him asking seemingly out of nowhere to try and catch her off guard. "War in Moments of Peace?"

She shrugs absently. "Weirdoes in Matching Pantaloons. I'm surprise you haven't figured it out yet." She tells Sherlock with a flip of her hair.

"You are humorous, Miss Granger." this does not sound like a complement. "Well then how about Women Impairing

Men with Provocative attire." he asks recalling her actions from the café.

Hermione looks down at what she is wearing finding nothing provocative about her attire. "Wouldn't that be W.I.M.W.P.A? So that certainly isn't it." She throws back while Sherlock comes up with his next guess.

"What of Wankers Enforcing Majesty Penalties."

"Enforcing starts with an E." She snaps. "I like Woman intolerant of Moronic person." She shoots back just as quickly. "Don't forget the dishes, Sherlock." With that she starts for the door but Sherlock grabs a hold of her wrist and pulls her up against him. Her back against his chest his breathing against her ear and suddenly she's breathless, "What are you doing?" she asked her heart hammering and her voice no more than a whisper. Sherlock wraps his arm around her waist holding her to him with one arm. His other hand taking hers and place something metal in it. She looks down at the gun he just handed her and she can't seem to rationalize what his intentions are. He braces her hand with the gun raising it up to point at the yellow smiley face target on the wall.

"Teaching the girl to defend herself." He answers, proceeding to teach her how to handle the weapon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Defeat**

Harry had texted her late prompting her to stay out most the night on another stake out. It seemed that Harry had uncovered quite a bit with the background check he had done on Joseph Morris. The man had a half-brother that went by the name Richard Brooks. A prominent math professor at University that had invited Hermione to come speak to his class around the time she moved in with Sherlock. Richard Brooks had been an actor before his career became none existence do to fraud charges that had been filed after claiming he had been hired by the famous detective to pose as a Jim Moriarty, whom now was supposed dead. The similarity between the two men are staggering as they could very possibly pose as twins yet according to legal records neither men were related.

Hermione returned home early the following morning and was able to get two hours of sleep before being awoken by Sherlock who did so by plopping a warm washcloth on her face.

Sherlock was fast becoming a bit too attentive for Hermione's peace of mind. The man hovered. He noticing everything, from the micro expressions that conveyed when she was upset, to being aware of her skin sensitivity to certain soaps, he was even aware of the timing of her monthly cycle.

It was in all becoming a bit too much.

Sherlock was obsessive about her health. Just last week one sneeze dictated a trip to Dr. Watson's clinic and this morning he was watching her with clinical precision. "What are you doing?" Hermione inquires sitting up on the couch where she had fallen asleep.

"You were out late. And we are needed across town. You have three minutes to get ready. It is imperative we are prompt."

Hermione groans throwing the wash cloth off and laying back down.

Apparently sleep was not a luxury she was allowed by either of the men in her life.

Sherlock pulls her up off the couch without another word pushing her towards the door. Hermione has enough time to grab her coat before being shoved towards the stairs. She has two option to climb down them or fall down them.

She chooses option number one.

Their cab ride was sort and Hermione used every moment coming up with clever insults that she chose not to share. They arrived at Dr. Watson's clinic unbeknownst to her, because apparently Sherlock had made her an appointment early that morning claiming it to be urgent. Blood is drawn as Hermione sits there glaring at her flat mate as the lab tech finishes.

Everyone is skirting around them with goofy grins but Hermione was not nearly as amused with Sherlock's antics as Mr. And Mrs. Watson seem to be.

Sherlock was hovering again this time over John as the doctor pulls out his stethoscope and listen's to Hermione's heart. Mary leaves the room taking blood specimen with her.

"She is fine, Sherlock. Her blood pressure is lovely, a testimony in its self since she lives with you. Your...ah...concern?...is unfounded." John declares turning to look at the detective. Sherlock apparently is not pleased by John's assessment.

"Absurd. She had a fever. You took it yourself with that the temporal thermometer. Low grade, but still a fever. You can't go out tonight with Mycroft." The detective declares taking the stethoscope and listing to Hermione's back. His hands on her shoulder as John walks over to lean casually against the counter looking annoyed.

"This is really pathetic. Perhaps you don't recall the wash cloth you plopped on my head before we left, of course I have a low grade fever, you idiot! I am going tonight, this charade of yours is not going to stop me." Hermione tell her flat mate.

Who is not listening to her words but her heart, the stethoscope now placed on her chest.

"Grumpy mood swings, irrational anger, fatigue, delusions of conspiracy, you are sleep deprived. You can't go out tonight it is for your own mental health, tell her John." Sherlock motions with his hand to the doctor, but cutting across the man as he begins to speak. "Plus added stress could weaken your already fragile state of health, its best you stay in and get a full night sleep." Sherlock declares placing the stethoscope on the counter. John shrugs and Hermione looks at Sherlock impatiently.

"Ridiculous. I'm going. This little charade of yours really is insanity." Hermione firmly states besides, if she was sleep deprived it was partially Sherlock Holmes' fault to begin with.

She knowingly let him to set the rhythm of her life. Staying up late just for a moment more in his company. He was a like a fascinating book from the restricted section she couldn't seem to put down.

She had went on stake out last night with Harry investigating the great mystery that had become her life since she moved in with the consulting detective.

Hermione was trying to work out the daunting puzzle that stood at her feet, a puzzle she was unwilling to share with Sherlock until she was sure he was not in danger.

She wasn't about to put him at risk, not when she could save him.

The brilliantly beautiful and complex man that she could argue with for hours and still want to cuddle up with on the couch that same night reading whatever text book he had procured.

She enjoyed spending time with the irritating man even when he was purposely being difficult. Sometimes Hermione wonder if at times Sherlock disagrees with her because he actually enjoys to hear her lecture him.

Sherlock also liked to test her. She knew that all the sharing of ideas, and experiments...they were all examines, ways for him to evaluate exactly how clever she really was.

Yet Hermione was not insulted because there was never a test she couldn't pass with extra credit. And perhaps that was the whole point, her keeping Sherlock ignorantly safe was her extra credit.

He wouldn't see it that way but he would be alive.

Someone was out to burn him that much was painfully obviously.

After John finally agreeing on a diagnoses of exhaustion, (with a small nod that Hermione read as get out), Sherlock allowed her to jump down from his exam table and put her coat back on. It seemed both men would see her stay home tonight.

Sherlock's arm is already around her waist as they walk out of John Watson's office. Sherlock is like a detective with a mystery: he simply will not let it go. "John was even insistent that you need more sleep, I'll let Mycroft know you can't make it tonight." The detective offers hailing a cab.

"I'm going, Sherlock. Nothing you say is going to persuade me otherwise. Two hours of sleep in 24 hours really isn't that shameful. Nothing compared to your trickery. Claiming that Mary had gone into labor. You should be ashamed of yourself." Hermione lectures her roommate sliding into the back of the cab.

"And oddly I'm not." Sherlock declares earning a scowl from Hermione.

"You are impossible." Hermione declares rolling her eyes.

The silence lasts the rest of the way home.

When they arrive at Baker St. Hermione hurries up to her room to get ready for that evening even getting a couple more hours of sleep before needing a shower.

She picked her dress out weeks ago, and looking at herself in the mirror, she didn't know what she was doing.

Playing the game perhaps, but she really wasn't even sure what game they were playing at this point. Her dress is elegant- a short white number with a flare skirt. It was conservatively cut but would draw his eyes just the same.

Sherlock always had an insult comment concerning her _provocative_ attire.

Tonight Hermione decided, she could be accommodating.

Mycroft was to pick her up for the theater within the hour. Hermione grabbed her coat throwing it over her arm descending the stairs to their shared living area. Sherlock is pouting on the couch. Hermione had kind of expected another elaborate plan to prevent her from going out instead he stands the moment she walks in giving her his full attention. "You look lovely." He praises as he motions to the tea set on the coffee table pouring her a cup.

Hermione's eyes narrow suspiciously at him and she can feel her heart flutter at his complement. His presence alone was enough to distract her from obligations. How many times had she cancelled on friends or put off assignments just to spend time with him? Too many, she was sure. Hermione had never met a man as intelligent and attractive as Sherlock Holmes. She could forget the world if she stayed with him too long.

She gave him too much power.

Hermione twirled, with girlish flare, just to watch Sherlock's pupils dilate. His attraction to her was growing and it was becoming harder for him to hide.

Hermione walks over to pick up the tickets on the mantel.

"Thank you." She acknowledges his complement, looking over to see the kitchen sink is still filled with dirty dishes. This upsets her in a very basic and type A way. She is contented with the anger, it helps keep things in perspective.

Keeps her from flirting too much.

She has no intention to nag. Not tonight, there is no reason for her to start a fight ruining her building excitement before her evening even begins. "Are you sure you won't come. There are two ticket, Mycroft purchased another one just in case you changed your mind." She tries to make it sound tempting, like he will be missing out. But Sherlock just shakes his head as he fixes the tea.

"No. An evening with Mycroft and my parents is not as tempting as one would think." He replies picking up two cups and walking over to her.

"Your parents? I am going to meet your parents…thought you had been hatched." She tries to conceal her surprise. Mycroft hadn't said anything about parent. But there is a recollection of her and Sherlock cuddled on the couch, him making an off handed comment that she barley remembers.

Sherlock hands her the cup as she looks at it suspiciously. "To calm any nerves you might have." He reassures.

"Are you poisoning me?" She asks, wearily taking the cup and sniffing the contents.

"Don't be so dramatic. I wouldn't be so forward if I were poisoning you. Miss Granger, you are far too clever for that." He declares taking the cup back and drinking out of it before handing it back to her.

She takes a sip and smiles. "Rose and orange! Thank you." She takes another drink before places the cup on the mantle and picks up the tickets. Sherlock is watching her and Hermione can't help but be suspicious. She opens the envelope to look at the tickets, when Sherlock speaks causing her to pause and look up at him. He is standing incredibly close to her and she can't help but wonder what he was planning.

"Post came. You have another invitation from Professor R. Brook. He is eager for you to come speak to his class, I can't imagine what about... That name seems familiar. He sent roses... Where do I know that name?" Sherlock's asks himself. Hermione knows he is up to something. She looks around the room, keeping Sherlock in her peripheral vision as she tries to figure it out, what he had up his sleeve to ruin her night.

Hermione quirks an eyebrow and looks up at her flat mate suspiciously. "Brook is an Arithmetic professor." Hermione shares, like this should mean something to the detective, as she pulls the tickets from the envelope, deciding she would just have to trust he would behave.

"And you are you a _mathematician_? I thought you were a Spy?" Sherlock asks. He knows she saves orphans and solves crimes with Mr. Potter, but Sherlock got the impression both of these were more a keen to hobbies than her actual profession.

Hermione shakes her head reading the tickets. "No. But my specialties do encompass a variety of subjects. Harry calls it a professional Know-it-all." Her phone rings and she places the tickets back in to the envelope to pull out her phone.

Sherlock is standing very close and far too casually. Once more making her suspicious of his intent. As she answers her mobile Sherlock catches her hand before she can put the device to her ear. The motion causes her to sway, she suddenly feels dizzy. His arm is already around her waist as she feels a sedative take effect. Everything happen so fast that Hermione is caught off guard unable to stop him from pulling her phone from her hand, so she slaps him when he looks away to toss her phone on a nearby table.

"You selfish prick. You did poison me!" She declares stumbling into him from the force of the slap.

He smiles in that pained semi-amused way as he smartly boast of him one upping her. "Yes! But it wasn't the tea." He comforts her seriously, not even phased by her scorn.

"The tickets. You laced the tickets..." she figures it out while trying to fight the effects of the sedative. "I trusted...y..." She accuses as her head slumps onto his shoulder.

"Don't." he suggest to the semi-unconscious beauty as scoops her up bridle style in his arms. The door opens and Mycroft is standing there with their parent; both of whom look scandalized.

"What did you do now?" Mycroft doesn't look phased with his sour expression and quirked eyebrow.

"Miss Granger is not feeling well. The prospect of spending the whole evening with one of British's most eligible bachelors made the poor girl swoon." Sherlock's snide insult did not go unappreciated.

There is a twitch of amusement at the corner of Mycroft's lip, "I see, so you did not murder Miss Granger?"

Sherlock glares at his brother hugging Hermione tighter to him. "You really have to ask?" is the detective's indignant answer.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow in that annoying manner clearly wanting direct reassurance.

"Of course not! She will wake in a couple of hours with a small head ach but other than that she will be fine." Sherlock yells looking down at the heart shaped face of his roommate then back up at his family.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "And are you feeling well enough to grace us with your presence?" Mycroft asks sounding bored.

"Don't be absurd. I must stay at Miss Granger's side to make sure she makes a full recovery. I'm sure Mummy and Daddy understand." Sherlock states.

"Of course we understand." their mother says recovering before their father. "We will wait in the car, Mike." she says taking her husband hand and leading him back out the door blowing Sherlock a kiss. His father recovers in time to wink at Sherlock before leaving the brothers alone.

"You really have outdone yourself this time. I had hopes for you and Miss Granger. I see now how foolish I was." Mycroft states with his nose in the air. "Do not make an enemy of her, brother dear, she would be far more useful as an ally." is Mycroft's advice before he leaves Sherlock to his own vices.

Sherlock makes Miss Granger comfortable in his bed, her eyes have yet to fully close as she looks at him from under her eyelashes. "When you meet my parents it will not be for Mycroft's amusement." He confides to her, sure she will remember none of it. Then he places a glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand going in to do the dishes. He had purposely left them to get her all riled up, now however they were starting to attach bugs.

There is a tug of guilt in the deepest recess of his mind palace and Sherlock wonders only fleetingly if he has in fact ruined what little trust Hermione had for him. Perhaps, he considers, this has ruined any chance of her telling him that big secret he keeps from the world. Hermione Granger was not nearly as easy to read as most. And when he tried to do a background check he found that Miss Granger's files were confidential, not even Mycroft had the ability to look into her past. Hermione Granger was...

Heavy footsteps on the stairs interrupt his thoughts.

Even with the water running Sherlock can hear them and they are familiar in a way that sends off warning bells. Sherlock leaves the water running throwing a dish towel over his shoulder as he walks over to get his gun, tucking it in his waist band before returning to the dishes.

The living room door squeaks open and Sherlock turns to get a full view of a very much alive Jim Moriarty walking through the door.

"SuPRise!" The snake greets in that annoying fluctuating pitch. "You have tidied up the place. It's interesting how complimentary THings can be with a woman's touch." Moriarty says casually leaning against the kitchen door frame a bag of popcorn in his hand.

Fear is Sherlock's first emotion, not surprise or intrigue: those follow. The first is the fear he has for the unconscious woman in his bed. Sherlock turns just so putting his body between the threat and the hallway that leads to his room.

Moriarty's expression telling Sherlock a million and one things about his thoughts but nothing screams louder than the desire for destruction.

"Oh, don't be like that." Moriarty says with a sweeping hand gesture. "I'm not jealous, we never said we couldn't see other people, Sherlock. I tried to be considerate...timed this perfectly so we could have a little alone time. Wouldn't want her thinking you were cheating on her now would we? I have been asking her for months now to come be a guest speaker for my class, I think she is ignoring me..."

It all clicks, "Richard Brook." Sherlock whispering the name remembering it to be one of Moriarty's alias. Or perhaps Moriarty was an alias for Richard Brooks. "You're not dead. But why would you just let me deconstruct your terrorist cells. Took me two years." Sherlock wants to know.

"I know. I spent my time productively, feeding your little mice tasty treats, and Joseph Morris did have his uses. Did...now he eats out of a straw." Moriarty shared, and Sherlock remembers how Hermione slammed the reporter's face into his desk. This causes Sherlock to smirk. Prompting Moriarty to continue his boasting "When did you suspect your homeless network had been comprised? It did seem fair. You deconstructed my information network, it is only right I poisoned yours."

"In the process you murdered a child!" Sherlock accuses harshly, recalling Hermione's tear stained face.

Moriarty shrugged. "Orphan couldn't be bought, he was too loyal and it got him DEAD!" the professor yelled the last part. "A picture worth a thousand words or in this case 13 deaths. He was a naughty boy stealing the photos I paid for. He didn't want to play nice."

"So you're back from the grave? Why now? Wait all this time. Your death was an impressive accomplishment…how did you fake shooting yourself in the face, did you have a mentally unstable twin?"

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "How boring." The psychopath claims. "It's a bit more creative than that. Desperation can stain the purest of souls. Your Miss Granger's halo glows white."

Sherlock's back is to the hallway his eyes still trained on the snake, "I understand death has improved you, you are a professor now?"

"I have always been a professor, try to keep up!" Moriarty grows impatient. "You are always one step behind, not able to keep up. You disappoint me over and over no matter how many chances I give you. Still you manage to get in my way. You were right, though, you might be on the side of the angels but you certainly aren't one." Moriarty declares with a shrug. "I still owe you though, don't I?" He asks stepping forward holding the popcorn back out as if offering Sherlock a handful.

Sherlock shakes his head. "We have yet to solve the final problem." Sherlock acknowledges, trying to work out the real reason behind this house visit.

"Ah but I have the answer." Moriarty shares. "I already told you how it ends. I am going to burn your heart out." Moriarty threatens.

Sherlock has already noticed that the popcorn bag is from the theater, the same one his brother and parents were at tonight.

"It was nice of Mycroft to send ticket for John and Mary as well as inviting your little girl friend. Just imagine the whole family all in one place sitting down together to watch, what is playing tonight? Les Miserable? The miserable ones. Ooh sounds like it will be a blast." Moriarty says with a sickening smile eating a bite of popcorn before backing out of the apartment. "I did warn you Sherlock. You should have stayed dead."

With that the snake was gone and Sherlock was left to digest the information he had been fed.

Phones have been turned off, Sherlock is unable to reach anyone so he calls Lestrade warning him of the possible threat to the Theater. That phone call is followed by a text to Bill Wiggins who shows up at the apartment ten minutes later.

If there is anyone in his network that was loyal it was this man. "Watch her." Sherlock commands in a hurry, throwing on his coat and pointing in the direction of his room before his feet hit pavement and he is hailing a cab to the theater.

Sherlock's heart hammering as he tries to work out how he will find the bomb and save everyone in the theater, everyone that means anything to him. This is why emotions were a weakness to allow the wicked to see your heart, because they will always use it against you.

The cab is half way to the theater when the cabby stops in the middle of the road his eyes on the rearview mirror and Sherlock turns to see why they have stopped. There behind them is a huge fire blazing several blocks away. Sherlock opens the door climbing out of the cab to look back slacked jaw at the raging infernal behind him. It was in the region of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock notes, then he is in a dead run, sprinting all the way back to his flat to find it consumed in fire.

The flames so high and engulfing every last piece of the structure there was no way that anyone could survive. Firemen were already on the scene trying to squelch the raging inferno. There could not have been a time that Sherlock had ran so fast or fought so hard to get into a building. Hermione was in there helpless asleep, unable to save herself and it was all his fault.

Moriarty had said, "her halo is white", followed by a promise to burn Sherlock's heart out. And the snake had waited all this time for this opportunity. Sherlock is interceded by two fire men that refuse to let him by, holding the detective back as the flames continue to rage. There was nothing to be done but contain the flames until they died down. Sherlock hits his knees, panic and despair engulfing him as he realizes he is helpless to do anything to stop this, his heart burning as a pain filled sob escapes him. This is was agony. This was anguish because Hermione was dead, and it was his fault.


	10. Chapter 10

**Are you ready for the story...**

Good!

This is a story of Sir-Boast-A-Lot. He was the bravest and cleverest of knights. He had slain the most dragons in the kingdom, but alas Sir Boast-A-Lot was lonely. You see his faithful harold had left him all alone, to go get MaRried. 'How Boring'. That is when Sir Boast-a-Lot meant Lady Know-it-all and instantly became bewitched by her charms. He made plans to spend the rest of his life with her only the dragon seeking revenge came and BURNED Sir-boast-a-lot's heart to ash.

THe End.

John looked down at his program again, re-reading the paragraph with a drawing of a knight on his knees crying with ash all around him. John stands holding onto the leaflet and climbing over Mycroft and his parents to make it to the aisle. All of whom shoot him reprehending glares. Mary is whispering his name apologizing to the others as she follows him out of the theater.

"What is wrong?" Mary demands catching Johns arm causing him to pause. He thrust the program in her direction. Mary looks it over then up at him, "Sherlock!" She too concludes grabbing her husband's hand and pulling him out into the night's air, already hailing a cab.

Her contractions start before they reach Baker Street.

The night air was soothing, they had just finished dinner and Harry was sitting on his balcony watching the stars with Ginny laying against his chest her breathing slowing and Harry can tell she is close to sleep.

It is a flicker of something in the distance that draw his attention, flames that seem to be growing at an alarming rate causing Harry to pause and sit up straighter, _odd that was in the direction of Baker St_. Harry realizes pulling out his phone and dialing Hermione's number. No one answers and Harry is on his feet, his girlfriend forgotten as he charges into his house trying the number again this time it goes straight to voice mail.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ginny asks and Harry is shaking his head.

"It was a joke...what I told her it was a joke, Gin." Harry rambles like a mad man.

"I don't understand?" Ginny is worried.

"I said, 'Let me know how this all ends.'" Harry tries to explain. Ginny nods like she understands assuming he is speaking of Hermione and that muggle man. "She responded with, 'I'm sure you will see the flames from Grimmald Place.'" Harry's face is white as he looks back out across the balcony where now the fire has reached the height of a S.O.S signal.

**Save Our Souls**

Perhaps there is something poetic in the situation Sherlock finds himself in. After years of vigilance, guarding his heart and relying on cold logic to find himself so completely compromised by a wisp of a girl.

He had said it before: Men, are quite capable of thinking logically, unless a woman is involved. But perhaps now looking at the evidence before him, he should revise such a statement: Men are capable of thinking logically unless a certain woman is involved.

Miss Hermione Granger had gotten under his skin and hollowed out a place in his heart reserved just for her. She had become the kind of addiction that blossomed into hope within the cynic's mind.

She had planted seeds of dreams of a future he had never dared to imagine such dreams that now had amounted to his own folly and destruction, because he had dared to hope such lovely dreams where possible.

Sherlock had known better, still he fell to temptation, because that was what Hermione Granger had been, the sweetest temptation a man could ever know- Clever, alluring and powerful.

Such a woman did not deserve the fate Jim Moriarty envisioned for her.

Sherlock looked around at the ruins of 221 Bakers St. The damage was not as bad as the flames had first suggested. Little bits were salvageable, a few of his books that had been on the corner shelf, parts of the kitchen and most of the down stairs.

Mrs. Hudson would not be completely ruined.

His own kitchen still smoked, billows of steam rising from the sink, Sherlock notes he still needed to finish the dishes.

His hands shake as he pulls his gun out checking the barrel. His and John's chairs are arranged just as they had always been, John's a skeleton of its self- his chair a bit scorched. The ash around them looks as if it has been disturbed little impressions no bigger than a child's foot oddly distributed, Sherlock shakes his head- he is reaching; seeing evidence where there is none. Building a house of cards to keep his mind from wondering; from fixating on her death.

The detective's bedroom had been burned to nothing. Just a black hole sucking in all his broken dreams and plans that had barley seen the light of day.

Sherlock surveys the flat again there was no sign of Bill Wiggins nothing to suggest that either him or Hermione's survival.

Sherlock doesn't know how yet, but the leader of his Baker Street Irregulars had to be somehow involved. Perhaps the tramp had been bought out 'desperation taints even the purest of souls'. Moriarty had said that, it had been a warning.

Still there was enough blame to go around. That was what truly ate at the detective, because Moriarty might have set the fire but Sherlock was the one to abandon her to the flames.

Even if unintentional.

She had been his future. Hermione had told him that caring was not the end of the world, but there was no question that it could very well be the end of his.

Because Hermione Granger had been his Mary. She had been his chance at getting off that perpetual wheel of going nowhere. And now Sherlock was truly left with nothing but thoughts of vengeance and a gun securely in his hand.

The university was dark a single lit courtyard like a torch drawling Sherlock forth. The light fed the detective's wrath as he makes his way across the campus grounds. Even in his heighten emotional state he is aware of his surroundings, the smallest hint of red in the corner of his eyes causes pause. He whips his head around that sinking feeling in his gut. Red was her color, _come and get me!_ He remembered her saying. There was nothing there, no other signs of her… perhaps she was trailing him… Sherlock shakes his head at his own foolishness what a sap to dare to hope that somehow she had survived that fire. Sentiment… to want something so irrational…to consider that she was still out there watching his back. Clearly grief was already making him imagine things and that hope that she planted into his soul was more rooted then he thought. Unwilling to be distracted he continued on his path to the serpent's den knowing that the scene was set for the final problem to be solved.

Moriarty was dressed for the part in a black pinstriped suit his hair immaculate in place. The professor grins he spreads his arms in a gesture of welcoming, motioning to Sherlock.

The detective looks up from under his eyebrows. "We have been here before." The detective acknowledges flipping the collar of his coat up.

Moriarty is already nodding. "Yes, well I thought a sense of Deja Vu would bring the game around full circle." He smiles like this is all cause of great humor, if only for himself.

"Welcome Sherlock. I want you to know that I am sorry for your lose. She was a divine woman. It was such a waste to kill her but I did make you a promise, now didn't I?" Moriarty asks with a grin. "And what kind of man would I be if I didn't keep my promises?"

"The insane kind." Sherlock acknowledges with a quirk of his eye brow. There is very little self-control as he tries to calm down to keep emotion in check and his head in the game he still needed to figure out what Moriarty's playing at.

Then it hits him and Sherlock understands the snake is trying to work him up. Trying to get him to do something he might regret, but the detective has nothing else to loose, this was exactly where he was meant to be… his fury boiling to wrath.

Sherlock pulls his gun pointing it at the psychopath.

"OOOh, so he does want to play. You have come so far! First you were willing to die for the ones you love, how noble… and now willing to kill for a _wOmAn_. How ordinary." Moriarty mocks rocking back on his heels like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You won't shoot, little old me. I know you Sherlock and you don't have that killer instinct. I burned your heart out and still you are not Man enough to pull that trigger."

Sherlock cocks the gun his finger on the trigger, his face devoid of emotions unwilling to show his inner turmoil. He knows he is being played, but right now they both wanted the same thing, they both wanted Sherlock to pull that trigger.

Sherlock's finger presses down on the trigger and suddenly Moriarty's hands are in the air his wide eyes indicating fear.

"Don't shoot!" Moriarty hollers. "Now, Sherlock, don't shoot." He seems to beg, second thoughts perhaps.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand what is happening, Jim Moriarty showing fear…something was off.

"But that is the point, isn't it?" A familiar voice asks from the shadows, Hermione walking out of a door way a fire arm pointed at this supposed Jim Moriarty. She is in her red coat looking unbelievably alive, unharmed and beautiful beyond words.

Sherlock can feel his heart hammering in his chest all of his blood rushes to his ears, he feels like he is in a wind tunnel everything around him surreal. How was she there alive, why had she not come to him sooner, who had saved her from the fire?

"That's the point isn't it, Dick?" Hermione asks again, walking over causally; the weapon trained on the villain until she is standing next to him shoving the weapon against the professor's temple. "Sherlock shooting you. That is the whole point of this exercise. The moral of the story, every hero is capable of villainy if you push him far enough…How far is far enough to turn Sherlock into a murder? Into a psychopath just like you? You don't want to be alone, you need to know that special someone is just like you…" She says whispering the last part in Moriarty's ear before looking over at Sherlock with a smile. "I promised you mystery, angles and demons, a whole world of possibilities, Yes?" She asks him and Sherlock is not sure if he had been played or if she was here to save his soul.

It is Moriarty that answers; his face morphs from mortal fear to acceptance. "Psalms 78:49- He unleashed against them his burning fury, his wrath, indignation and hostility- a destroying angel… Bless you." The professor says turning with a tear in his eye with resolution on his face as he stares the barrel of the gun down. "Shoot me." He demands and Hermione smirks.

"Shoot you, heavens no. You still don't understand. I'm not the angel in this story." She warns." what was it? Can you tell me what it is… Sherlock, dear? What else was it I promised you?" She asks looking again to Sherlock who is eyeing her suspiciously as he answers. "Magic."

She smiles again, her attention back on the man at her mercy. "Magic! Ah yes, but we're not there yet. What is my greatest weakness, have you figured it out? My secrets, the why, the how…why love doesn't make me weak? How much did Moriarty promise a dyeing dead man to dress up and play make believe?" Hermione asks. "He can hear us, yes?"

Richard Brooks nods, "yes." The man says a red dot now trained on his head and the man looks frighten enough to wet himself.

"Good, because I want him to know I worked the final problem out...I have found the solution. I know who he is and that I am coming for him. He wanted to know my weakness…well it's time for him to understand…there is nothing he can do to me that hasn't been done already…i am the demon and I have seen his face and I'm bringing my army of one, my avenging angel with me. Sherlock and myself against the spider and his web…run and hide…because we're coming for you!" She says and the gun goes off in the distance. And she pistol whips the man across the face, he falls to the ground unconscious.

Sherlock looks over his shoulder to witness a rippling effect when the bullet hits a supposed invisible dome dissolving into nothingness.

He looks back at Hermione who has her hand on Richard Brook's head muttering to herself, her gun has disappeared and she reaches over pulling an ear bud from his ear.

"What are you?" Sherlock inquires sounding suspicious, because for the first time in his life he doesn't understand what is happening around him.

"A witch, of course! I work with Wizards Institution of Muggle Protection. While all this is a bit out of my jurisdiction, the man did try to murder me and witches do tend to take it personally when someone tries to burn them alive." She flips her hair over her shoulder and is looking up at him with such candor and trust that Sherlock realizes that the only logical conclusion is that she is in fact a witch. That would explain so much about her and the invisible dome thing that just saved their lives.

"You did promise me magic." Sherlock reasons. "I had not anticipated the literal kind…How did you survive the fire? A spell? You were barely conscious."

She takes a step towards him. "My elves saved me. One in particular. I'm not her favorite person in the world, but she was there when I needed her. Even gave me an antidote to get me back on my feet."

Sherlock nods, "One of the children that you built the shelters for…she saved you? Pulled you out …How is that possible- the weight difference alone…?" Sherlock still was not grasping the full concept of the world he has been pulled into.

Hermione reaches out to him interrupting the science of it all and sighs when he pulls her into his embrace. "I never said anything about children, they are elves and they saved me the same way we are going to drop in on the spider…" She lets her words trail off letting the temptation of wonder and possibility grow into anticipation.

"You did promise me a world of endless possibilities." Sherlock notes leaning down and kissing her as sweetly as a man like him can manage. He is content that she is alive and in his arms at the moment.

Sherlock brushes her hair back from her face and smiles at her and she knows they can lose themselves in each other if she doesn't put some distance between them, but not before kissing him again.

Then she does the responsible thing and pulls out of his embrace. Sherlock understands, he nods preparing himself for the conclusion of this mystery. There are some finer points that he is going to need her to explain. "That was really Richard Brooks then? You said you saw the snake's face. Then who is Jim Moriarty?" Sherlock asks indicating the unconscious man on the ground.

Hermione is eager to explain, "The real Jim Moriarty is an idea, a name only. The master mind is someone that would never put himself in line of fire. He likes to watch and watching is what got him caught. The man who died on the roof top, he was an actor, his real name was Samuel Roberts."

"They look alike, twins?" Sherlock asks, Hermione is already shaking her head.

"Science experiments. They both had extensive cosmetic surgeries. Look at his facial structure…the nose and lips. And the scaring behind his ear. This man was made to look like another. The real Jim Moriarty is still out there." Hermione explains kneeling next to the unconscious man pointing out her finding.

Sherlock nods, wondering how he hadn't notices the discrepancy in the underline structure before. "Idiot! Of course…So there are three of them?" Sherlock yells at himself.

Hermione again is shaking her head. She stands and walks over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "No…the two are window dressing. I doubt they look anything like the actual spider. He will want his image to remain innocent. But you will have met him, in some form he has attached himself to you by means of trust and comradely." Hermione deduces.

Sherlock is quiet trying to figure out who the real Jim Moriarty could be…he is searching his mind palace looking for a face and key to who would do this but in the end all he can do is think Mycroft, Mycroft had connection and ….

Hermione is looking up at him with wide brown eyes filled with empathy. "Not your brother." She assures like she can read his mind.

"Did you just do some magic thing to get inside my head?" He accuses.

An eyebrow arches, "No need for that, your face tells me anything I need to know. Aren't you going to interrogate me?" She presses looking up at him not at all offending in the path this is all going down.

"No, because I know you're not, him. You are not Jim Moriarty." Sherlock says like trying to convince himself.

"You don't sound completely sure. It would be the logical conclusion…" Hermione reasons but Sherlock cuts her off.

"No…you genuinely care about people, without that air of fakeness that overcompensates for malice. You aren't all that nice, bending others to your will for their own good… you are one of the most real people I believe I have ever met…And, I trust you." He admits aloud sounding appallingly surprised by the last bit. Like he only just now realized it.

He didn't trust anyone, not even John, not fully. "So you don't have to tell me…I'm Sherlock Holmes so I already know you're not him."

"No I'm not…" She confirms taking his hand. Sherlock seems to let out a sigh. She is looking up at him with determination and Sherlock knows it is time.

"Are you ready to face him?" She asks squeezing his hand.

"Yes lets be done with this it is time to move on to more entertaining games!" Sherlock assures wrapping his arm around her waist, just to hold her is comfort, her warm and alive in his arms.

He feels like he is being crammed into a small box the air around him collapsing in, all he can do is hold on to Hermione so she won't slip away. Then they are standing holding one another in an elegant tea room, a thin faced man in a pin striped suit looks up with a disaffected stare.

"Ah Sherlock, _Hermione_…Don't just stand there and gawk, come sit. Your tea is growing cold." The familiar blonde gestured with a sweeping hand motion welcoming his guests.

Sherlock halts as he looks at the familiar visual of Bill Wiggins cleaned up looking all posh. "You?" Sherlock looked at the familiar man, who had high cheek bones and thin face, with accusation. "All this time…you were Jim Moriarty…using people as puppets, but it was your words." Sherlock says not really needing an answer.

"Yes, yes we have established all that," The man shrugs with a nod clearly agreeing with the detective. "You're so easy to distract though. Always looking for a clever solution, when the truth is so much simpler. Still give you a song to sing to…to dance to and you distract all too beautifully. Pay a dead man to die and you tie up my international loose ends for me. All the while I'm sitting fat here working from home. Beautiful home too. Don't look so glum, you're not the only one that I can get to dance and sing…I can rule most of London from my computer and never have to get dressed. But you, Sherlock, are my favorite to watch." Bill says turning to give his full attention to Hermione. "Now I am more interested in your lady friend…I really am pleased to see you are alive and well _Hermione_. You were supposed to be leverage, Sherlock was supposed to thing you were dead, while you were actually my prisoner but the fire got a little out of hand and when I came back for you…you had vanished…So no hard feelings…after all you are the one that worked it all out and put yourself in such a dangerous situation. Were you even going to tell Sherlock? He told you he trusted you, and now we find out that such trust was miss placed. But then, trust is not love is it? He did drug you and leave you in my capable hands and since I was the one that measured out the sedative I know there was no way you could have gotten up and walked out. So how did you escape?"

"Elves. Have you not been listening? I let you listen for a reason..." Hermione informs him, all snooty like he was an idiot that should already know the answer, holding up the ear bud she hand taken from Richard Brook. "Everyone needs education so I thought I should enlighten you on three miscalculations on your part; The first one was that the boy you murdered died so that I could find the source of poison that lead me back to you and the picture in his phone of you stalking my every step weeks before Sherlock sent out his mass text. The second is that because of Bear's sacrifice I have been taking anti-venom daily so your sedative did not work fully on me, you should never have shown your face at Baker Street that night, because now you have no mask to hide behind."

Bill frowns looking impatiently at Hermione "How do you know I'm not just another puppet?" He challenges.

Hermione raises an eye brow and smirks. "Right you just told us you were Jim Moriarty, but you are right you could be lying, but we will come back to that... Now aren't you even a bit curious what the third miss calculation on your part was, for future reference of course?" She inquires patiently.

Bill folds his arms in front on him and stares Hermione down. "Alright, love, what is my third miscalculating?" He asks, arrogantly like all of this was mounting to his own victory. It is Sherlock that answers his gun drawn as he stares down his longtime nemesis.

"Why that I am Sherlock Holmes, and my companion is Hermione Granger, the sum of us is equivalent to endless possibilities. You cannot win." He states cocking his gun. Bill Wiggins' face pales as Sherlock wraps his free arm around Hermione. Bill's hand twitches so Sherlock make a warning motion with his gun. "I will shoot you." Sherlock states with a good threatening glare. Bill seems to believe the detective.

"Sherlock understands and now so do you." Hermione confirms with a know-it-all tone and flip of her hair. "You don't look too well, I think I know just what you need." She says to their host, stepping forward a stick in her hand the tip glowing so it is pointed at Bill causing the man to go cross eyed.

"I woman's touch?" Sherlock suggests to the villain as Bill Wiggins a.k.a. Jim Moriarty hits his knees.

Hermione is muttering what sounds like an incantation, or witchy thing of some kind all the while her wand glowing ominously.

"So at last you come face to face to the weaver of webs. This is Jim Moriarty, and his net has been cast wide. What do you want to do with him?" Hermione asks confirming this was their man.

Sherlock is looking at the subdued spider, the detective wants him dead. There was no room in Sherlock's future for a villain that knew how to devastate without conscious. There was so much that Sherlock wanted and every bit of it he had scarcely imagined he could have because the fear of losing it to such men weighted too heavy on the detective's logical mind. But death would only be a momentary solution, eventually another spider will find the web and claim it as their own. So many variables and Sherlock was finding that after a lifetime of practice at detachment at this moment it has all fled him and that all he can do is think with emotions rather than cold hard logic.

Hermione is kneeling next to Bill her hand softly against his brow as she looks up at the detective. "All done. He will have a choice to make and it will ultimately be his…" Hermione stands facing Sherlock.

"What choice?" The detective wants to know.

"Good or Evil. I planted the seed. One will be his salvation the other his destruction." Hermione reasons and Sherlock nods before the wheels in his head began to turn and he looks up suspiciously at his roommate.

"Like mind magic?" Sherlock sounds aghast.

Hermione shrugs with a nod, walking around Sherlock gracefully making her way out of the house.

"Wait! How did you…? Are you positive he…? Did you do mind magic on me?" Sherlock wants to know not able to complete a full question until the last one.

Hermione looks over her shoulder with a saucy grin. "Do you have to ask?"

* * *

The taxi pulled up to the ruins of 221 Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson can feel her heart speed up as she hesitantly steps out onto the side walk.

"Are you sure we're in the right place, ma'am?" The taxi driver asks but Mrs. Hudson who tentatively nods.

_What has Sherlock done now?_ She asks herself

A construction worker approaches her with a tilt of his hard hat. "You wouldn't happen to be Mrs. Hudson would you, now?" the man asks and the land lady is able to nod. "They told me to give you this." He states offering a sealed envelope which Mrs. Hudson takes with a quiet thanks.

**_Our dearest Mrs. Hudson,_**

**_I understand the troubling sight before you may be a bit hard to process but, I can assure you that Sherlock and I are in the process of having 221 Baker Street rebuilt in all its glory at no cost or unconvinced to you. In the meantime you are welcome to extend your holiday with us in Sussex, the address and taxi fees are enclosed._**

**_Thank you, as always for your patience._**

**_We hope to see you soon,_**

**_Hermione and Sherlock_**

Mrs. Hudson re-reads the letter and lets out a sigh. "Looks like I'm going to Sussex she tells the taxi driver climbing back in the cab handing the driver the address.

The cottage is in Eastbourne Sussex. The shore line viable from the front yard and Mrs. Hudson wonders if the cliffs in the distance are the seven sisters. John is there to help her with her suit cases and Mary is holding their new baby rushing over to give Mrs. Hudson a one armed hug.

"You made it! How was your trip?" Mary asks. Mrs. Hudson shakes her head brushing off her own worries at the sight of the beautiful baby girl in Mary's arms. "Oh it was fine." Mrs. Hudson says already reaching for the baby. "Let me look at her now." The older woman coos embracing the pink bundle.

"She is just lovely!" Mrs. Hudson declares at which Mary smiles. John is unloading her bags and paying the taxi driver.

"This is a beautiful cottage! How long do you think we get to stay here?" Mrs. Hudson ask sounding excited.

John scratches his head and the front door opens a familiar looking man with green eyes and untidy hair walks out with his red haired girlfriend on his arm. John waves them over, "Potter! Help me with these bags!" John requests to which Harry and Ginny quickly intervene.

"Don't you know? It's theirs they own it!" Mary says.

"Who does?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. He bought it as a wedding present for her. It was all very romantic." Ginny fills in with a wistful sigh.

Harry frowns. "There was nothing romantic about it. They went to a Register Office and signed papers then had a party. There was no real ceremony."

"He bought her a house." Ginny argues.

"A cottage…with bees." Harry snaps back.

"And a garden." Ginny smiles at her fiancé.

"So this is theirs then? They are married!" Mrs. Hudson seems to be up to speed on.

"I hope so after the scene he made at the register office." John interjects hauling Mrs. Hudson's luggage into the cottage.

"So they don't plan to come back to Baker Street once it is re built?" Mrs. Hudson asks sounding upset over the possibility as they all make their way into the house.

"He said he will need an office." John assures the land lady, setting the luggage down and taking his daughter.

Mrs. Hudson looks around at the cozy dwelling, "So where are they?" She is eager to get some questions answered about what happened at Baker Street.

"With the bees." They all say in unison pointing to the back door.

Mrs. Hudson walks out and down the little stone path, she stops when she sees them. Locked in an intimate embrace they are standing just outside the bee enclose, they have taken off their protective gear and Sherlock brushes the side of Hermione's cheek before leaning down and gently kisses his wife.

Mrs. Hudson not one to raise a fuss ventures back to the house, leaving them to have their moments.

The rest can wait for another time.

* * *

A.N: I hope everyone enjoyed the story.


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